The Night of the Willful Witness
by KayValo87
Summary: Jim and Artie get more than they bargain for when they are assigned to protect a young lady who is determined to complete a mission of her own.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello Everybody!**

I know people will think I'm crazy for starting a new story when I have so many unfinished ones, but rest assured _THIS IS A COMPLETE STORY_ ... told in several parts.

The thing is, I discovered the FABULOUS show _The Wild Wild West_ over the summer and almost immediately started to come up with ideas for fics. This particular story is the first one I wrote down and I've been working on it - on the side - since September. (So no long waits between posts.)

I would like to thank my amazing beta readers, The Wild Whovian and Andamogirl, for their support and help in bringing this story to fruition.

 **DISCLAIMER:** I tried to buy them, but the train would not fit on my apartment's patio and the boys are just too slippery to pin down for long. Alas, they remain in the hands of their rightful creators. (However, all original characters are mine.)

Enjoy ...

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

Jim rode up the street, his partner right beside him. The telegraph message had not given any details of their assignment, only that they had to report to the St. Louis Marshal's office right away. The only thing he could think of was that this had something to do with a stash of stolen weapons that had come across the wire a few weeks back, as the theft had taken place not far from the city. Artie, however, seemed to have other things on his mind.

"I'm telling you, Jim, not many towns can compete with St. Louis. The food, the culture – the women. Why can't more of our jobs be in places like this?"

"Luck of the draw, I guess," he answered, coming up to their destination.

Artie sighed and followed suit, leading the way into the building. It looked like any other law office, though maybe a little busier than most. One man noticed their approach and headed over. Based on the gray in his hair and the authority in his stride, Jim was willing to place money that he was the one in charge.

"Are you the men from the government?"

"Yes, my name is James West and this is my partner, Artemus Gordon."

"I'm Marshal Ezra Linfield and I must say your arrival couldn't come too soon."

"It's that bad?" Artie asked grimly.

"Well … no," the man hesitated. "Are you aware of the weapons that disappeared last month?"

"We heard about it," Jim confirmed.

It was a slight understatement. Every law officer from San Francisco to Albany had been on the lookout for any trace of it. Ten crates of rifles and dynamite weren't something to be taken lightly.

"We have a witness who has named the man behind the theft," Linfield reported. "You may have heard of him as well; Douglas Scranton."

Jim knew of him; his reputation was well known in the agency. Scranton had been suspected of being behind a number of crimes in the past, from theft to murder, but always managed to keep his hands clean. If this witness turned out to be reliable, it was the first step to putting him behind bars where he belonged.

"The witness was able to tell us where the shipment was being stored, but by the time we got there we were only able to recover a small amount of what had been taken," Linfield continued. "On top of that, Scranton seems to have disappeared."

"And as long as he's loose, your witness is in danger," Jim concluded.

"Exactly."

"I suppose that's where we come in?" Artie guessed.

He shared a look with Jim, both knowing what was coming. Protecting people was one of their primary duties and someone with information on Douglas Scranton was most definitely in need of protection. The man had worked too hard for too long to let the word of a single person put him in jail. The only question now was …

"Who's the witness?"

"A young lady by the name of Olivia."

Artie's eyes lit up and Jim had a hard time suppressing a smile. If they had to protect someone, at least it would be someone nice to look at. Though with their luck, Olivia would probably turn out to be a 70-year-old nun.

"Oh, miss," Linfield called into the adjoining room. "The agents are here."

The witness stepped into the room and Jim's smile widened. Far from being 70-years-old, the young lady was just that: young. Smooth fair skin with just a touch of freckles dotted across on her cheeks, glossy black curls fell just past the shoulders of her violet dress, and wide brown eyes stared up at him with a mix of distrust and curiosity. Yes, _young_ lady indeed … about 12 if he were to hazard a guess.

"You don't look like agents," she said, tilting her chin up to look him in the throat.

"Have you seen many agents before?" Artie asked brightly, apparently over whatever disappointment her age caused.

"No," she admitted, "but I've seen tougher."

While his partner tried to pretend that he wasn't offended, Jim turned to Linfield to get more details – particularly how this child managed to get incriminating information on one of America's most elusive criminals. The answer to that was easy enough: she was his daughter. Her mother had become suspicious of Scranton around the time of the weapons theft and had sent Olivia to the authorities for help. Unfortunately, Mrs. Scranton was not able to accompany her and stayed with her husband to keep up appearances, telling him that Olivia was visiting an aunt in Boston. Of course, if he so much as suspected what his wife was plotting, there was a good chance the woman was dead.

"She's not dead," Olivia snapped. "She had an escape plan, same as me. She just knew that we would be caught if we left together, so I went first."

The three lawmen agreed with her claim, though Jim could tell the other two still had their doubts. Douglas Scranton was not one to trifle with, even for family. So Artie gathered the little girl's things and brought her out to the horses, but Jim was stopped by Linfield.

"You better keep a sharp eye out, Mr. West."

"Don't worry," he assured him. "Scranton won't get near her."

"It wasn't Scranton I was worried about," the Marshal said with a slight smirk.

Jim frowned and headed out to his horse, seeing the girl was already mounted. She gave him a nervous look as she clung to his partner's back like a monkey, Artie's assurances seeming to do nothing for her confidence in his riding abilities. Olivia Scranton certainly didn't look dangerous.

Then again … most girls didn't.

* * *

What do you think of my very first venture into the Wild West?

I await your comments, suggestions, and feedback. The next chapter will be posted in the next 24 hours (unless otherwise requested.)

 **NOTE:** I am a college student, so homework and classes may cause future updates to be posted early/late.


	2. Chapter 2

As promised, an update within 24 hours.

This chapter is dedicated to Tripidydoodah for their kind words and support. (Thank you!)

I would like to thank three betas for help on this chapter: The Wild Whovian, Andamogirl, and Dlldarkwolf for giving t a last once over when my spellcheck failed. (sometimes I hate being dyslexic.)

Enjoy ...

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

The ride from the Marshal's office to the hotel took ten minutes, but to Artie it seemed much longer. Somehow their witness had been able to question his riding ability, the strength of his horse, the quality of his saddle, and his intelligence – all before they started out. If she was this charming all the time, he was going to ask for a raise. Maybe the agency was punishing them for that last incident where they misheard their orders – or one of the many other times.

"Are we there yet?"

Yes, most definitely a punishment.

"It's just a little farther down the street," Jim answered, riding beside them. "You think you can make it that far?"

"If your partner doesn't drop me."

Artie wanted to mention that she was the one holding on, not him, but a subtle look from Jim kept him quiet. He wasn't sure what was going on back there, but he trusted his partner. Besides, they were coming up to the hotel and it felt like their witness really was about to fall off his horse.

"Hold on," Jim said softly, dismounting and holding his arms out to the girl.

Olivia's death grip released his jacket and switched to his partner. Artie caught a glimpse of pure terror on her face and frowned. Was she that afraid of Douglas Scranton or was there something else? The way she practically ran into the hotel didn't offer up any answers. Jim followed, leaving Artie to get the bags. Typical. Luckily, the hotel had excellent service and he needed only to take the bag off the saddle before the staff whisked it away. He followed them inside to find Jim signing in and Olivia – looking much calmer – staring out the window.

"Can we get a room in the back?" the girl asked sweetly.

"I'm sorry, Miss, but those are all full," the clerk replied.

"Never mind, the front is fine," Jim assured him, taking the key.

"But can't people from the street see in?"

"Not if we avoid the windows," Artie answered, holding out his arm. "The upper level offers all the privacy we need. May I escort you to your room, Miss Olivia?"

She gave him a smile and accepted his peace offering. He couldn't blame the kid for being scared – anyone twice her age would be – but she seemed to be handling it better now that they were inside. Maybe this protection detail wouldn't be so bad after all.

"I'm tired," Olivia announced as soon as they got to the room. "Can I take a nap before dinner?"

"Dinner isn't that far away," Jim commented.

"I know, I just need a little nap."

Artie shared a look with his partner and gave him a shrug. She didn't seem tired, but maybe maintaining the strong front was getting hard. Besides, a few minutes to herself wouldn't hurt anything – it would also give them a chance to talk. Jim seemed to agree and escorted Olivia to the private bedroom. Once the doors were closed, he turned to Artie.

"Cute kid."

"Easy for you to say; it wasn't _your_ jacket she almost tore."

"Ah, she was just scared, and who could blame her?"

Artie muttered in agreement, checking the street out of habit. There wasn't much going on below them. A few women window-shopping, an elderly couple buying tickets from the stage office, a drunk being tossed out of a saloon; pretty standard. No sign of Scranton or his men – not that they knew what Scranton looked like beyond a vague description of a punchy, balding man with a love of good whiskey.

That sure narrowed it down.

Tossing his hat onto the credenza, Artie removed his jacket – double checking to make sure the seams were still intact. Relieved to see that the garment was only wrinkled, he shook it out and laid it over a chair. Maybe he could get the maid to press it for him later-

"So," Jim started, taking a seat by the fireplace. "What do we know about Douglas Scranton?"

"From what I read about him, he's not a very pleasant fellow," Artie replied, pouring water into the washbasin. "He made his fortune during the war securing gunpowder for the North – though there are no official records as to where he got it."

"Now he works in the import business," Jim continued, taking his turn at the washbasin. "A perfect cover for smuggling. It would also explain how everyone who has ever testified against him has disappeared."

"Charming," Artie added grimly.

He handed his partner the towel and glanced at the bedroom door, thinking about the girl on the other side. They had both heard enough to know how ruthless Douglas Scranton was when crossed, but would he really order the death of his own daughter? Could anyone be that callous?

"Hey, Artie," Jim interrupted his thoughts. "It's almost dinner time. Why don't you go wake up our guest?"

While he seriously doubted she was asleep, he nodded and knocked lightly on the bedroom door. When he got no answer, he knocked louder. Still no answer.

"Olivia?" he called, sticking his head into the room. "It's time for – Jim!"

Artie threw open the door to the empty room. The bed was untouched, the girl's bag was gone, and the window was wide open. Someone must have sneaked in and grabbed her – but how would they have not heard them? Why didn't she scream? And why would the kidnapper bother taking her bag with them? However, those questions could wait; what was important now was finding Olivia – fast!

"They can't have gotten far," Jim stated, heading to the window. "I'll track them this way; you head out the front."

Nodding, Artie raced down to the lobby, praying they weren't too late. He ran past a very bewildered clerk, almost knocked over a couple of cowboys coming through the door, and finally reached the street. Scanning the area, he checked for anyone who looked out of place – like a little girl being dragged away by a would-be assassin. Unfortunately, nothing stood out. The ladies were still window shopping, the drunk was getting tossed _back_ out of the saloon, a group of passengers was boarding the stage – including one girl in a very familiar violet dress.

"Hey!" Artie yelled, running across the street. "Hold up there!"

Unfortunately, his voice was drowned out by the cry of the driver urging the horses on. Running after the stage would be pointless on foot, so he doubled back to where he and Jim left their horses. Speaking of Jim, he came around the corner of the hotel just as Artie reached their mounts.

"She just got on the stage," he reported, climbing into the saddle.

"Did you see who was with her?" Jim asked, following suit.

Artie shook his head and the two took off after the stage. Despite the fact it only had a thirty-second head start, weaving through traffic slowed the agents down enough that they didn't even catch sight of the stage until they were just outside of town. After that, it took another mile or two to catch up with it – not to mention convince the driver that they were not planning to rob the thing and it was okay to pull over.

Once the stage came to a stop, Jim dismounted and opened the door. With his gun at the ready, he ordered everybody out. First came the elderly couple he had seen buying their tickets, next came a man with the look of a banker, followed by two woman in their twenties, and last came Olivia. The girl kept her eyes on the ground, a sheepish expression on her face, and Artie got the distinct impression they had jumped to the wrong conclusion.

"Gee," she chuckled nervously. "I guess you're real agents after all."

* * *

So, what do you think of Miss Olivia? Anyone see trouble on the horizon? ;)

I look forward to your comments/feedback while I prepare the next update, which will be up in about 24, unless requested sooner. (And I HAVE been known to update in as little as 2 hours when asked.)


	3. Chapter 3

So, I'm not getting much of a response from this, but maybe it's just because you haven't seen enough yet. So, I will continue my daily updates and hope people are enjoying them.

This chapter is dedicated to 1monster2 for her friendship and support. (Even if it keeps us both up WAY longer than we should be. ;) )

I would like to thank my betas, The Wild Whovian and Andamogirl,who made the posting of this story possible ... and coherent.

Enjoy ...

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

Jim crossed his arms, looking down at the girl perched on a rock on the side of the road,while his partner tried to sooth the passengers of the disrupted stagecoach. From the sound of things, Artie was having trouble convincing them that they were not being robbed. As for the cause of the commotion, Olivia appeared to be genuinely sorry for bringing them so much trouble … but she wasn't very forth coming as to the _why_.

"Okay," Artie sighed, joining them at the rock, "what's this all about?"

"Not sure," Jim replied. "Olivia?"

"It's just … um … I was going to see my father."

Jim set his jaw, wondering how Douglas Scranton had convinced the girl to come to him. Had he used her mother? Threatened her in some other way? Or was she still loyal to the man, despite his history of violence? She hadn't seemed to have much love for him when they were at the Marshal's office, but the bonds of blood ran deep.

"Did Scranton contact you?" Artie questioned.

"What?" Olivia made a face. "No! He's not my father."

The agents shared a look. If she wasn't Douglas Scranton's daughter, than how was she able to get information on him? Or was he using her to lead them on a wild goose chase? This whole mission was raising nothing but questions; it was high time they started getting some answers.

"Let's go back to the beginning," Jim suggested. "Who told you to tell us about the stolen weapons?"

"Mama did," she answered without hesitation. "We came back early from a shopping trip and heard Father talking to some of his men about them."

"And who is your father?"

"You mean the one talking about the weapons? _That_ was Douglas Scranton."

"But he's not your father?"

"No."

So much for making sense.

"I think we need to go back to the beginning again," Artie muttered.

Jim was inclined to agree before the girl explained that Douglas Scranton was her step-father. It seemed he married her mother when Olivia was a baby and she had always been told to call him 'Father,' even though the three of them knew he wasn't.

"My _real_ father is at the next stop on this stage line," she said, wringing her hands. "Oh, Mr. West, please let me go to him! I know he will help me find Mama. He's a good man, honest he is!"

Well, that changed things. If Douglas was not Mrs. Scranton's first husband, they might just have another ally in the fight against him. On the other hand, if her first husband was such a good man, why did she leave him to marry Douglas in the first place? Jim let out a sigh; even when they got answers, it raised more questions!

"All right," he caved. "We'll go to the next stop and find your father, but no more running off. Understand?"

"Oh, yes sir," she nodded vigorously. "I promise I won't go anywhere, as soon as we find my real father."

Deciding it would be more comfortable for her on the stage – which was too crowded for either agent to join her – the two agents took the position of escort. It only took an hour or so to reach the next town where Olivia eagerly climbed out of the coach and looked around.

"How long has it been since you've seen your father?" Jim asked, dismounting nearby.

"Years," she admitted. "I doubt he will even recognize me now."

"What's his name?" Artie questioned, as he tied his horse to the hitching post.

"Arthur Gay; he's a doctor."

That shouldn't be too hard to find in a town this size, Jim thought to himself. He headed toward the doctor's office while Artie and Olivia went to find something to eat. It didn't take him long before he came across the shingle for Dr. Harris. Odd for such a small place to have more than one doctor, but Olivia had said it had been years. Maybe Dr. Gay had moved on. If he had, his replacement should at least have some idea of where they could look next.

"Evening," an old man greeted from behind the desk. "What can I help you with?"

"Just some information," Jim replied. "Do you know where I could find Dr. Gay?"

"Gay? Can't say I've heard of him, but if something ails you-"

"Nothing like that, I just need to find him. I understand he used to live here some years back."

"Son, I think you have the wrong town. I've been the only doctor around these parts for the last – oh – twenty years or so."

Jim smiled and thanked the man for his time, even as he was internally working through what he had just heard. It was possible that Scranton or his men got here first, especially if he knew about Olivia's real father. However, it was just as likely that she had been mistaken about the town – or she was lying to them.

"Mr. West?"

He turned halfway back to the stage to see the town deputy coming up behind him. The man was young for a lawman, probably around twenty or so, with a mess of sand-colored hair peeking out from under his black hat. Still, youth or no, Jim had learned a long time ago to be courteous to the local law – that is, until they gave you a reason not to.

"You Mr. West?"

"Yes, what can I do for you-"

He cut off when the deputy drew his gun.

"You can come along and not cause any trouble."

"Can I ask what this is all about?"

"You can, but I don't get paid to answer questions. Now, start moving and keep those hands up."

Not seeing much choice – or at least not one that didn't involve attacking a lawman – Jim allowed himself to be prodded toward the jail. Once there, he saw he was not the only guest inside.

"Hello, James."

"Artemus," he greeted as the deputy removed his gun and locked him in the adjoining cell. "Do you know what this is about?"

"Well, it seems you and I are kidnappers."

"Kidnappers?" Jim echoed, confusion quickly turning to understanding. "Nice."

"You're the one who said she was a cute kid."

"I'm starting to rethink my assessment."

Miss Olivia wasn't just a scared little girl; she was trouble incarnate.

* * *

So, any thoughts on Olivia or her motives? 

Let me know what you think while I take care of real life. (Until tomorrow.)


	4. Chapter 4

Hello again!

I hope you like Artie's thoughts from behind bars; I really enjoyed writing them.

This chapter is dedicated to my friend AngelicJedi98, who has supported my work for a long time.

As usual, I would like to thank my betas, The Wild Whovian and Andamogirl, for their help in getting this chapter ready.

Enjoy ...

* * *

 **Chapter 4**

Artie perched on the hard plank – that was trying _desperately_ to pass as a bed – and considered their options. Unfortunately, they were rather limited until the sheriff returned. Their flight from the hotel in St. Louis had been too quick to grab anything and the deputy was observant enough to disarm them … for the most part. His partner should still have the break-away derringer in his boots, but all things considered, shooting the deputy may not be in their best interest. Of course, there was always the chance he still had a bit of something on hand …

"Hey, Jim? You have anything on you to make the time go faster?" he asked, choosing his words carefully.

"Sorry, Artie, but I left my party favors in my other jacket."

So much for that idea.

"Hey, this ain't a party," the deputy snapped, "so you two just keep it quiet until the Sheriff gets back."

"And when will he get back?" Artie asked.

"I don't-"

"I know," Jim interrupted, holding up his hand. "You don't get paid to answer questions."

"That's right. So you two just keep it quiet."

Without much reason to do otherwise, the agents did as they were told. After all, antagonizing their jailer would not help them find Olivia. On the other hand, if they didn't get out of here soon, they would lose her again – maybe permanently. Under normal circumstances, they might have been able to get the deputy to go out and find her. However, having been labeled kidnappers, it wasn't likely the green-horn lawman would be willing to help them. Perhaps they could try convincing him that _she_ kidnapped _them_ …

"Toby?" a voice called, interrupting his thoughts. "Anything happen while I was out?"

"You can say that, Sheriff," the deputy – apparently Toby – replied. "I got a couple of kidnappers in the back."

At last, salvation was at hand! Jim rose to his feet and Artie followed suit, each moving to the front of their respective cells. Any minute now the sheriff would come back here and they could finally get out of this dismal prison – not to mention track down that little hellion who got them locked up in the first place.

"Kidnappers? Who'd they kidnap?"

"Some little girl from St. Louis. Said she's got a rich uncle in Chicago."

First a father, now an uncle. Olivia's family was growing by the minute.

"Where's the girl?"

"Oh, she took the stage a while ago. Said she had to get to her Uncle's in a hurry, something about a sick grandmother."

Artie shared a grim look with his partner. They needed to get out of this jail fast or Miss Olivia might be lost for good. Fortunately, the sheriff didn't waste a lot of time in getting their side of the story … unfortunately, he was also a cautious man.

"Well, this all looks in order," he said, going over their identification papers, "but I'm gonna wire the Marshal over in St. Louis, just to be sure. You understand, right?"

"Yeah, we understand," Jim sighed. "Just do us a favor: send a telegram to the next few stops on the stage-line and tell them not to sell tickets to any children traveling alone."

"I suppose that wouldn't hurt anything. All right, I'll send those messages and let you know as soon as I hear something."

They thanked him and settled in for a wait, praying that the Marshal was paying attention to the telegraph. In the meantime, they were going to need a plan to deal with Olivia. Of course they would probably need to get back to the train to get a few things – like manacles.

"What did the doctor say?" Artie asked after a moment.

"That he'd never heard of a Dr. Gay," Jim replied, his eyebrows furled.

"Did that surprise you?"

"You saw her, Artie. The way she talked about her father, it was so … genuine."

"We have been fooled before."

"Yes, but why? If this is just about getting away from Scranton, why run from us? There's something going on here, and I intend to find out what."

They lapsed into silence as Artie considered what his partner had said. Jim was right, Olivia wasn't just running away from Scranton or them; she was running _to_ something. But who or what? She told them it was her real father, but that may have just been a ruse to get them to this town. Then she told the deputy about an uncle and grandmother, but that could simply be a cover to get _out_ of town. Maybe …

"Jim, do you think she got word from her mother?"

"That would be my guess, but why would Mrs. Scranton be sending her away from the police when she was the one who sent her there in the first place?"

"Allegedly," Artie corrected. "Remember, the only reason we believe that is because it's what Olivia told us."

"And with everything else she's told us falling apart, how can we know what to believe?" Jim concluded.

Artie gave him a grim nod and leaned back against the wall. Olivia Scranton – if that was even her name – was becoming as much a problem as she was a help. She had known about the weapons and where they had been stored, that much was a fact. She had also made an official statement against Douglas Scranton, which had put her life in danger as much as it gave her credibility – no one went against someone that powerful without just cause. Still, if all that were true, why run away?

What was worth risking her life over?

"Gentlemen," the Sheriff greeted, coming in the back room with the key, "I just got a message from Marshal Linfield and he backs up your story. You're both free to go."

Finally, some good news for a change. The lawman returned their guns and wished them luck on their mission – something they were definitely going to need. Not only did Olivia have a three-hour head start on them, it would take at least an hour and a half to get back to St. Louis and pick up their gear.

Forget about luck – they needed a miracle!

* * *

Thank Heaven for competent sheriffs! Our boys are free, but where is Miss Olivia?

The next chapter will be from her perspective, so you can see her true motivations.

I will post again in 24 hours, unless someone requests an earlier posting. (I really do listen to those kinds of requests, just saying.)


	5. Chapter 5

Sorry this is so late, but i was somewhat busy with going to church, _getting engaged_ , and having lunch. You can understand, I'm sure. ;)

Anyway, here is the chapter I promised from the perspective of Miss Olivia. (I'm curious to see if anyone's feeling about the little darling change after seeing her motives.)

Once again, I would like to thank my betas, The Wild Whovian and Andamogirl, for their help and support as I venture into a new fandom.

This chapter is dedicated to France, because I recently watched an episode where Artie played a Frenchman. (TNOT Torture Chamber)

Enjoy ...

* * *

 **Chapter 5**

Olivia stepped off the stage and looked around, half expecting to see Mr. West or Mr. Gordon watching her from an alleyway or upper window. She felt bad about getting them arrested but it had to be done. They were good men, good at their job, and she just couldn't see them being okay with her finishing her quest. For some odd reason, the most well meaning and upstanding men around didn't think it was proper for a young lady to go – how did Cecil put it – "traipsin' around the countryside chasin' ghosts." Well, she wasn't casing ghosts because her real father was not dead … he just couldn't be dead.

Sniffing back the tears that came about every time she thought of those scoffers and their lies, the girl squared her shoulders and marched over to the stage depot. Luckily, Mama had given her plenty of money to finish her mission – not that it was intended for that, but she never specified that it _couldn't_ be. Olivia just hoped that this would be the last ticket she would have to buy.

"Pardon me, sir," she said as sweetly as she could. "Is this where I buy a ticket to Chicago?"

"Yes indeed, Miss," the young ticket master replied. "You just go get one of your parents and we'll get that all taken care of."

Uh-oh. This had those government agents written all over it. Of course they would have found a way to foil her plans, even stuck in … whatever town that was. Though considering it took almost a full day to reach Springfield, it wasn't likely they were sitting around that place waiting for her. Still, telegraphs travel a lot faster than horses and those two were using it against her. Darn them!

"I can't do that, sir," Olivia continued, trying to maintain the innocent child routine. "You see, Mama is very sick and Papa took her to Chicago three days ago. I was visiting with an aunt and only just now got word of it. Please sir, help me get to Chicago. If anything happens to Mama I-"

She broke off with a sob that was half real. Mama really was in danger, but she couldn't let herself think about what would happen if she was too late. She had to get to Papa; it was the only way to save her.

"Gee, Miss, I wish I could help," the ticket master muttered, looking away from her tears. "It's just … I have my orders. I can't sell any tickets to children."

So _that_ was it. Clever agents, but she could top that one.

"Would it be all right if I got my uncle to buy me the ticket? He's still here until tomorrow."

"That would be just fine," the man replied, visibly relieved that she had stopped crying.

Olivia smiled and hurried off to find the slums. Mama always told her to stay out of those parts of town, but she heard that was where people would do anything for a dollar. If she was going to rent an uncle, she couldn't think of a better place to look.

Two hours later, she was about ready to give up. Springfield was not St. Louis and she had no idea which direction to go to find the slums. So far, the poorest people she saw were middle class at best – or worst as the case may be. No one in that group was going to be her fake uncle for only ten dollars, and that was all she could risk spending. She would need the rest for passage, in case Papa wasn't in Chicago. Mama always said he felt more at home in New Orleans, but they had met in Chicago and it was closer. If only she knew for sure.

Tired of walking, Olivia took a seat on a crate at the mouth of an alley. She sniffed back her tears, determined not to cry. Father always said crying was a sign of weakness and one must never show weakness. Now the man may have been a liar, but he had a point with that one. Weaknesses could be exploited and Douglas Scranton was a master at it. He was always telling her how hopeless it as to go looking for Papa, how foolish she was to be pining away for a dead man. Well her mission wasn't hopeless – Papa _was_ out there … somewhere. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out her pouch of treasures: some of Mama's jewelry, her lucky button, and the only piece of Papa she had.

As carefully as she could, Olivia unfolded the letter. She knew every word by heart, every graceful stroke of his pen. Turning to the last page, she touched her fingertips against her favorite part.

 _I love you … I miss you … we'll be together soon_

That promise is what kept her going. He didn't mean to leave them behind after the war, she was sure of it. Papa was a good man – a great man – and he wouldn't have left them like that. Something kept him away, but it wasn't death. A man as great as Papa wouldn't be killed by something as trivial as a stray bullet in a battle – Olivia doubted one bullet would have been able to stop him even if it did hit him. No, Papa was _not_ dead.

"Heh now, Missy," a scraggly man drawled. "What ya doin' all 'lone? Ya lost?"

Finally, someone who looked like they could use ten dollars! Allowing the emotion she was feeling to peek out – just a little – Olivia looked up at him with wide eyes. Here goes nothing …

"Oh, sir, my aunt dropped me off here to catch the stage to Chicago, but the ticket master says I'm too young to buy a ticket."

"Wha' in Chi-cagy?"

"My mother," she sniffled, dabbing her eyes. "She's sick, sir, and I just must get to her. Will you help me?"

"Don' rightly know wha I can do fer ya."

"I have the money for the ticket, I just need you to tell the ticket master that you are my uncle and buy it for me. Oh please sir, I simply must get to my mother. She hasn't got much time!"

By now the tears pricking at her eyes were real as she thought about Mama's fate. She knew how dangerous her fake father could be and didn't want to imagine what was happening to her mother that very minute. She knew she wasn't dead – Douglas Scranton enjoyed causing pain too much to actually kill his victims.

"Yer uncle, eh?" the man muttered, scratching his graying beard. "Not sure as I kin pass fer that … tell ya what, Missy. Hows 'bout I git ya on a train?"

"A train?"

"Ah, sure. I jist climb 'board afor dey leave. No ticket, no trouble."

Olivia considering his offer with increasing interest. If she could get on a train without any record of it, there was no way those agents would be able to track her down. She would be free to find Papa and save Mama. It was perfect!

"Sir, if you can get me on a train without needing a ticket, I will give you 20 dollars."

The man's eye lit up with his smile and he eagerly led the way to the railroad yard. Sure, it was more than she wanted to spend, but if he could teach her this trick, she might never have to buy another ticket again. Meeting this man might just be the best thing that could have happened to her.

The railroad yard was crowded with trains and Olivia wondered how her new friend could tell what was going where. Weaving between cars and dodging railroad workers, they finally came to a short train near the back.

"This'un be head'd ta Chi-cagy 'bout five ta-nite," he explained.

Olivia studied the two cars, wondering how many would be added before they pulled out. The first one looked like it would be used for storage or livestock. That would probably be her best bet – unless it was full of a certain type of animal that might trample her with its hooves. The back car looked much nicer, but would likely be full of people. How in the world was she going to hide on this thing?

"Won't this one be … um … crowded?"

"Nah, ain't no 'un on it. We jist git ya all hid afor dey come."

Seemed reasonable enough. Olivia climbed the stairs to the back car and opened the door. Inside it looked like a mansion's parlor. There were couches, chairs, brandy – even a fireplace. Whoever traveled on this train had to be richer than the whole of St. Louis!

"Well," a voice made her freeze, "nice of you to join us."

Slowly, Olivia turned around to see Mr. West leaning in the corner. She tried to bolt back out the door, but the scraggly man caught her by the shoulder.

"Not so fast," he said in perfectly familiar English. "I think you have some explaining to do."

Olivia looked up at Mr. Gordon, watching as he removed the wig and beard, but had only one thing to say.

"You, sir, are Satan."

* * *

So, what do you think of her now?

Let me know and I will try to get my next chapter up at the usual time. (11am PST)


	6. Chapter 6

I am **SO SORRY** this is late. I meant to have it up before class, but forgot that I started my work study job until 15 minutes before my shift. Then I went from work to lunch, lunch to class, class to class, and now I am FINALLY done. (I'll tell you how I will make it up to you at the end of this chapter.)

As in my custom, I would like to thank my betas, The Wild Whovian and Andamogirl, for their help and support.

I would like to dedicate this chapter to England because ... Yay England! (That's a reason, right?)

Enjoy ...

* * *

 **Chapter 6**

Jim sat at the table with Artie, going over all the reports they had on Douglas Scranton and the theft of the weapons. It was quiet except for the soft sound of the train wheels rolling across the tracks. It wouldn't be long until they were back in St. Louis – a fact their passenger was still moping about. Olivia was seated on the sofa in a posture his partner had called extremely unladylike – a comment that only deepened the slouch. She hadn't said a word since declaring Artie to be the devil, which was strangely both soothing and unnerving. Maybe it was time they buried the hatchet.

"Would you like something to eat?" Jim offered, giving her scowl a small smile.

"No, I like starving."

It seemed she was more interested in burying the hatchet in their backs.

"At least she's talking," Artie murmured, raising from his seat.

"Yeah, but is that a good thing?" Jim whispered back.

His partner shrugged and headed out the door towards the galley. Soon the smell of food wafted into the parlor and Olivia's face began to soften in anticipation. She must have been hungrier than they thought. Then again, Jim had no idea when was the last time she ate. No doubt the wagon master would have secured breakfast for his passengers at the way station, but had she taken the time to eat after that. Something told him that whoever – or whatever – she was looking for was a lot more important to her than a missed meal or two.

"You gonna tell me why you ran off?" he asked gently.

"I wasn't planning on it," she muttered, tilting her chin to sniff the air. "Is he making pork?"

"Do you like pork?"

She nodded, closing her eyes to take another deep breath. Maybe they should have tried food as a motivator before. By the time Artie returned with what he called a simple lunch of pork chops and potatoes, their guest was all but drooling. Olivia practically threw herself at the food with only the small size of her bites betraying her level of breeding as she quickly cleared her plate.

"May I have more?"

Artie smiled, murmuring how it was nice to have someone who appreciated his cooking for a change, and refilled the girl's plate. This time she ate slowly, visibly savoring each bite, and still managed to finish off everything. Jim was half expecting her to ask for a third helping when she sat back in her chair with a sigh.

"I'm sorry I got you arrested."

Jim shared a look with his partner. It seemed Artie's cooking really had done the trick. Now if they could only get her to tell them what this was all about …

"I just had to get to my father," she continued without needing any prompt. "He's in Chicago."

"I thought Dr. Gay was back in Missouri," Jim commented, keeping his tone light.

If she was in a talkative mood, they might be able to finally make sense of things. On the other hand, if she realized they were interrogating her, she might shut down again. Best to just let her guide the conversation. Based on the look Artie gave him, he was in full agreement.

"Papa's name isn't Gay," she admitted. "It's … it's Gaylord; he's British … a noble in fact."

 _Here we go again._

"You're saying your father is a British noble?" Jim clarified, having trouble masking his skepticism. "What would he be doing in Chicago?"

"He's at the embassy there."

"Consulate, my dear," Artie corrected. "There is only one British Embassy and _that_ is in Washington."

"Whatever it's called, that's where he is," Olivia stated firmly, apparently having made up her mind to stick with this story. "That's why I had go without you; foreign governments don't like American agents."

While that was often true, there wasn't a lot of bad blood between them and England at the moment, so it wasn't likely to cause a problem – assuming that she was telling the truth this time and her father really was a British national. However, there was an easy way to check. Crossing the room, Jim sat down at the desk to write out a message on a small piece of paper and rolled it up. He then walked into the other room to retrieve Arabella, sliding the message into the capsule she carried and released the bird out the window before heading back to the main parlor.

"What did you just do?" Olivia asked, her sweet voice contradicting the distrust in her eyes.

"I sent a message to our office in Chicago to see if they can contact your father."

"You can't!" she said, before quickly adding. "The consulate won't even admit he's there."

"And why would they do that?" Artie asked, his light tone softening the edge in his voice.

"Because he's an agent like you," the girl explained. "They don't tell anyone where he is when he's working."

"Then how do you know that's he's in Chicago?" Jim challenged.

Just like that, her good mood was gone. She scowled at the agents and crossed her arms, announcing that she was tired and wanted a nap. Knowing that they weren't going to get anything more – or at least nothing useful – Jim escorted her back to the guest quarters before returning to the parlor.

"You sure it's safe to leave her alone?" Artie asked, handing him a brandy on his way back to the table. "You remember what happened the last time she took a nap?"

"I don't think she'll risk going out the window on a moving train," he chuckled, pausing to sip the drink. "On the other hand, it wouldn't hurt to turn on the alarm … just in case."

"Way ahead of you, James my boy," his partner said with a smile.

Considering the fact he hadn't moved from the table, Artie must have already activated the mechanism. Then again, he probably turned it on as soon as Olivia was aboard. All for the best, since chances were good she would try to bolt again the first chance she got.

"That's interesting."

Jim turned from his thoughts and circled the room to looked down at his partner, who was engrossed in one of their reports. Leaning over his shoulder, he quickly saw what Artie was looking at.

"Douglas Scranton has a warehouse in Chicago," Jim murmured, straightening up. "You think that's where she was headed?"

"James, at this point, I'm not even convinced that Chicago was her final destination – she told too many people."

"On the other hand, it could be where Scranton is keeping her mother," he reasoned.

Artie shrugged and went back to the report while Jim gathered anything he would need when they got back to St. Louis. His first stop would be the Marshal's office – maybe they would have some answers for them – then he planned to start tracking down Mrs. Scranton. Of all the things Olivia told them, her concern for her mother was the most genuine. If they could rescue her, they might be able to control her daughter.

After all, miracles happened every day.

* * *

So who thinks Miss Olivia should fess up and just tell them that she doesn't know exactly where her father is?

I look forward to your comments and feedback.

To make it up to you for posting late - twice - I will post the next one early. You can choose if you would like it 1, 3, 5, or 12 hours early. (If you don't pick, I will just stick with 1.) **NOTE:** I do have classes and need at least some sleep, so please pick one of the offered numbers as those times I am available to post.


	7. Chapter 7

Sorry, I know this isn't early, but I was making wedding phone calls. (Because I'm engaged now. :) )

Once again, a huge thanks to my beta readers, The Wild Whovian and Andamogirl.

This chapter is dedicated to Tripidydoodah for reviewing EVERY chapter thus far and her kind words about my engagement. :)

Enjoy ...

* * *

 **Chapter 7**

Arte sat at the desk in the parlor composing a report for Washington and wishing desperately that Jim would have agreed to a coin toss to determine which of them went into town. Of course, it still might have ended up with him on babysitting detail, but at least he would have had a chance. Not that he couldn't handle a twelve-year-old girl, but he just felt that she responded better to Jim.

"How long until Mr. West comes back?"

It seemed they were in agreement.

"It could be a while," he answered, glancing up from his papers. "If you would like to read, there is a shelf on the wall."

She nodded and headed toward the books while Artie returned to his work. Less than half the dynamite and only three rifles had been recovered by the marshals. While that was enough to corroborate Olivia's story, it left a big problem. There was enough firepower still unaccounted for to bury half of St. Louis; whatever Scranton was planning, it wasn't good.

"I'm hungry," Olivia announced, leaning against the desk beside him. "Can I go to the galley and get something to eat?"

While he had a hard time believing that she could be hungry after two servings of pork at lunch, Artie's limited knowledge of children suggested that they did tend to eat a lot during growth spurts. Of course, he had no way of knowing if she was having a growth spurt or not – though her earlier appetite strongly suggested that was the case. Still, he couldn't ignore the chance that it was a ruse to slip away. Under the circumstances, there was only one answer he could give.

"Of course you can have something to eat," Artie said with a smile, rising to his feet. "In fact, I'll join you."

While her own smile faltered slightly, she seemed content to let him cook her another meal. She even offered to help. While her upbringing suggested white gloves and lace bonnets, Miss Olivia was more than willing to push her sleeves up and get her hands dirty. A girl after his own heart.

"Here, keep mixing until it gets doughy," he instructed, turning to check the meat.

"Okay, Mr. Gordon. Where did you learn how to cook?"

"The same place most people do, in the kitchen."

She shot him a look, but there was a smile in her eyes. However, since she was actually behaving for once, he decided to humor her. So Artie launched into the tale of how he had been stranded in Minneapolis as a struggling young entertainer and made his living working in a hotel.

"Part of my pay included the use of a small room, but I had to fend for myself when it came to meals," he explained. "Well, it just so happened that this particular hotel had the best French chef west of St. Louis. On the nights that I wasn't performing, I was in the kitchen learning everything he was willing to teach me."

"You did all that work just to eat? Most of the men I've met would have just made do with beans and jerky."

"Yes, but most of the men you know probably don't know the difference between rigatoni and a ragu."

She seemed to agree, but was distracted when she noticed that the dough was ready. While he formed the biscuits, she went over to get some extra flour. A small crash caught his attention and Artie looked up to see Olivia sheepishly righting their bottles of spices. No harm done. She brought over the flour and soon the biscuits were baking nicely.

"I hope you thanked that French chef," the girl said between bites of pork and biscuits.

"Many times," Artie assured her, enjoying his own portions.

"Cecil taught me about cooking."

"Cecil?"

"He worked for Mama, helped in the kitchen and kept up the garden."

Suddenly she stopped eating, her expression turning downcast. Artie paused, his drink halfway to his lips. It suddenly struck him that she had been talking about this man in the past tense. Considering she grew up in a house with Douglas Scranton, that didn't bode well for Cecil.

"What happened to him?"

"Father didn't like him because he only took orders from Mama. He … he made him go away."

"I'm sorry."

"He was my friend," she continued quietly. "Now I don't even know where he lives."

Or if he lives, Artie thought darkly. It wasn't surprising though; a man like Scranton would never be able to abide someone he couldn't control. Heaven only knew how long he would have put up with Olivia. The kid got out just in time.

"Mr. Gordon?"

"Yes?"

"I really am sorry I got you arrested."

"That's all right."

"I just have to find my papa."

"Of course you do."

"And if I could do it without tricks I would."

Something in her tone struck Artie as odd, but he was distracted when something fluttered to the floor. He reached down and retrieved a napkin. While that wouldn't ordinarily be a problem, the residue on it was cause for concern. Powders; several in shades of red, brown, and black. Spices by the smell of it, but what would she be doing with a napkin full of spices?

"I just don't know any other way."

A dark feeling dropped into the pit of his stomach and Artie looked up just in time to get a face full of water … only it wasn't just water. A burning sensation filled his eyes and he instinctively pressed his fists into them. The spices! He needed to get to the washbasin, and quickly. However, before he could even get to his feet, he heard the sound of the door open and shut. He didn't need eyes to know what had happened.

Olivia was gone.

* * *

Poor Artie, but she DID try to be nice about it ... kinda.

Let me know what you think and tomorrow I will be sure to post early.


	8. Chapter 8

How's this for an early update? (10 1/2 hours early ... Thank you insomnia.)

Seriously though, I needed some sort of pick me up. Less than 72 hours of being engaged and I seem to have offended a third of my family. (One sister is mad because she is not standing in the wedding and my other sister is, the sister that is standing for me is mad that I asked the sister who is not to hep me pick a dress instead of my mom, and my mother seems to find half my choices ridiculous ... Any advice?)

I huge thanks to my betas, The Wild Whovian and Andamogirl, for not being part of the wedding politics.

This chapter is dedicated to all my friends at school who are supporting me through my time of chaos.

Enjoy ...

* * *

 **Chapter 8**

Jim stepped out of the Marshal's office, Linfield right beside him. There was still no trace of Scranton or his wife anywhere. The agent just wished he knew if that was a good sign or bad one when it came to Olivia's mother.

"Sorry we can't be of more help," Linfield muttered, scratching the back of his neck. "That whole household seems to have up and vanished, but at least the little lady is safe, right?"

"Right," Jim nodded, though he had his doubts.

Artie was a great agent and the best partner a guy could ask for, but even he had his limits and he had a feeling that the girl was pushing every one of them. If Olivia was looking for her real father, why didn't she just come out and tell them who he was? On the other hand, if she was working for Scranton, they could be in a bigger mess than they thought. In either case, he had better get back to the train and make sure it was still standing.

"Oh, Mr. West," Linfield began as the agent turned to leave, "if you don't mind me asking, how is Miss Olivia faring?"

"She's fine."

"Good, good," the marshal murmured. "Some of the men thought I should ask, what with her being so spirited and all."

"That's one way to put it," Jim agreed.

"Yes sir, that girl can be the sweetest thing you ever did see … then turn around and become a holy terror."

"She cause you a lot of trouble?"

"Me? No, she behaved herself with me. But my men … well, lets just say we once found her in the tree outside the second floor window. It was locked from the inside, so best we can figure she got on the roof somehow."

That sounded like Olivia. The feat was even more impressive when one considered that there were no less than four men on duty in the office at any given time. Now Jim was even more anxious to get back to the train. So, excusing himself from the marshal, he mounted up and hurried back to the railroad yard.

The parlor car was empty when he entered – an almost guarantee that something had gone wrong. Carefully looking around for signs of a struggle, he called out for his partner.

"Jim?" came the reply from down the corridor. "That child is the spawn of the devil!"

While that confirmed his suspicions that Olivia had escaped – again – it raised a few more questions, like what was Artie doing in the washroom? Every option from poison to spilling wine on his shirt ran through Jim's head as he slid the door aside. His partner was bent over a washbasin, repeatedly splashing water in his face. Based on how wet his sleeves and shirt were, he had been at it for a while.

"You okay?"

"No, I am most certainly not okay!" he snapped, pausing with his hands in the bowl. "That little hellion practically blinded me!"

"How?"

"She put a handful of spices in a glass of water and threw it in my face," he explained, splashing his eyes again.

"You gonna be all right?"

"Yeah," he sighed, grabbing a towel and drying himself off. "The effect is only temporary; it lasted just long enough for her to get out the door."

"So, you didn't see which way she went?"

Artie lowered the towel to send him a dark glare made even harsher by the redness in his eyes, and Jim quickly apologized. Maybe next time he should stay behind. After all, the marshal said she always behaved for him; maybe she just had her own ideas of authority. Of course, their first step was to find her.

Agreeing to meet back on the train in thirty minutes, the agents split up to search the railroad yard. While it wasn't likely that Olivia had stuck around, someone might have seen something. However, after more than twenty minutes of questioning engineers and passengers, Jim had come up empty. He hurried back, hoping his partner had better luck, to find Artie seated at the table with his make-up kit.

"James," he greeted, spreading something across his eyebrows to lighten their color, "it seems our very own Lucrezia Borgia has decided to take a riverboat. The route is on the desk."

Leaving his partner to apply one of his blond mustaches, Jim went over to check the map that had been laid out. Luck seemed to be shifting to their favor, because there was a siding not far from the next port. If they could get there before the boat did, they stood a much better chance of finding her. He let Orrin know about their plans and the train was speeding down the track by the time Artie had finished changing himself.

"So who are you this time?"

"Why, sir," he replied in a heavy southern drawl. "I am none other than Buford Algary. My daddy owns the largest sugar mill south of the Mason-Dixon line."

Rich Southern gentleman – more than likely a gambler – and just the sort of person you would find on a riverboat headed toward New Orleans. More importantly, he was someone different enough from Artemus Gordon to fool Miss Olivia … hopefully.

"Here's the next port," Artie commented as the train came to a stop.

"Right," Jim agreed. "You go buy a ticket; I'll get your bag."

He lifted the satchel, startled by how heavy it was. Now it was not uncommon for them to pack a few extra gadgets, but most of what they had were small and relatively light. The only thing either of them carried with real weight were their guns, but his partner had that on his hip. What else could be in there? Curious, Jim pulled it open … and shook his head in disbelief.

"Artie?"

"Yeah?"

"Why do you have a chain in here?"

"Because we don't have any shackles small enough."

Jim would have laughed if it wasn't so true. He also noticed that, in addition to the chain, there was a sampling of Artie's collection of gadgets and gases. If he didn't know better, he'd swear the man was getting ready to face Loveless. Still, there was one thing missing.

"No explosives?"

"James, my mission is to capture and contain," Artie replied taking his bag, "not sink the riverboat."

Fair enough. While his partner headed for the ticket office, Jim rode straight toward the docks. He might not have as much gear with him, but he would have to be ready if Olivia got off at this stop. On the other hand, if she didn't, Artie was going to need all the luck he could get.

* * *

Up next: Artie in disguise.

I'll probably post at lunch tomorrow, but you may have to remind me. In any case, I look forward to your comments and feedback.


	9. Chapter 9

**Hey look! It's almost on time! :D**

Seriously though, I took great care to make sure this chapter was ready on time. (I am actually writing this AN 2 hours early, just so it's ready too.)

I am dedicating this chapter to the late (and super great) Ross Martin because this story would never have existed without his genius. (You will always be our Artie.)

Thanks again to my amazing beta readers, The Wild Whovian and Andamogirl, for their help.

Enjoy ...

* * *

 **Chapter 9**

Artie wandered into the riverboat's saloon, trying to keep up appearances while keeping a look out for a certain little girl in a violet dress. They had left port an hour ago and he hadn't seen so much as freckle of his quarry. The last time he worked this hard at finding somebody, the man had murdered seven people and was trying to overthrow the government of Louisiana. If Olivia was this good at twelve, he shuddered to think what she would be like at twenty.

"Why, Mr. Algary," a raven-haired beauty – but not the one he was looking for – purred. "Are you enjoying the voyage?"

"Surely, Miss Mabel, I must say I am," he drawled, giving the woman a smile as he kissed her hand. "Of course, it is made all the better by the pleasure of your company."

If only he had time to enjoy her company, but who could rest with a mischief-maker on the loose? Still he had to play the part, right? So he remarked on the way her deep blue eyes sparkled in the candlelight, how the soft color in her cheeks put the pale pink roses to shame, and lamented the fact that she had to get off before New Orleans which would deprive him of the chance to show her around town. Okay, he might have been playing the part up just a little, but he was only human after all.

"I just wish there were a jeweler on board so that I might find something to grace this delicate hand," he continued.

"Funny you should say that," Mabel interrupted. "Because I just saw a little girl on deck trying to sell some jewelry."

"A little girl?" the agent asked, forcing himself to keep his voice casual.

"Oh yes. She's on her way to visit her sick grandfather in New Orleans and ran out of money, the poor thing."

Well, if there was one thing he could say about Olivia it was that she never ran out of tall tales. Next she was going to be telling them that she was raising money to build a rocket to the moon. In any case, Artie would have to handle this carefully if he wanted to catch up with her without scaring the kid off. So, turning up the charm a bit, he politely asked Mabel just where she had seen the little girl – and may have hinted that there might be some jewelry in it for her.

Five minutes later he was at the stern, overlooking the paddle wheel and it didn't take him long to spot her. Olivia was sitting on a bench staring across the water with a small pouch clutched in her hands. While Artie's first instinct was to march over there and haul the little scamp down to the brig, he had a feeling even that wouldn't hold her. He took a step forward, and she must have heard his approach, because she quickly swiped her sleeve across her eyes and jumped to her feet.

"Good evening, sir," she said sweetly, bobbing in a small curtsy.

"That it is, that it is," he agreed, tipping his hat. "And what brings such a pretty young thing out on an evening like this? Waiting for a beau?"

Artie gave her a wink and she giggled. He always had a way with woman – no matter what the age. If only he could get her to behave this well without using an accent!

"I'm just watching the water," she explained. "Sunsets always looks prettiest on water."

"Indeed they do."

He sat on the bench next to her and half-pretended to be enjoying the view, but all the while his mind was calculating the best way to get her back to his suite with minimal attention. Normally he could subdue his quarry with a derringer or a pistol in the ribs, but he wasn't going to pull a gun on a child – no matter how devious she was. Speaking of which, she was now staring at him with an intensity that made him wonder if she could see past the makeup. Only one way to find out …

"What is it? Do I have something on my nose?"

"No, sorry," she said, looking back across the water. "For a minute there, I thought you were somebody else."

Despite the pride he felt that he had managed to fool her again, Artie decided that it was time for the ruse to end – at least as far as Olivia was concerned. After all, it wouldn't be long before she went to her own room – assuming she paid for one and didn't just sneak aboard – and who knows how long it would take to find her again.

"Well," he whispered in his own voice, "maybe I am."

Olivia moved to run, but Artie caught her arm. She sent him dark glare and he was half expecting her to try biting him – and she might have if someone hadn't come out on the deck. The girl glanced at the gentleman and got a look in her eye that gave the agent a pretty good idea of what was coming.

"Before you try screaming," he continued in a low voice, "you should know that I left St. Louis with papers from Marshal Linfield that identify you, me, and my mission."

It was true – for the most part – he did have papers to identify himself and a letter from the Marshal, but nothing official. Still, it would overturn any accusations of kidnapping … hopefully. As luck would have it, she decided not to take the risk and stayed quiet. Smart kid.

"Say, are you the girl selling her jewelry?"

Olivia looked up at the newcomer, her eyes wide, before glancing back at Artie. Whatever surprise she felt at his question was quickly hidden behind a mask of complete innocence.

"Why yes, sir. It's not much, but I really need the money. My grandfather is very sick …"

As she spun her latest tale, Artie couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration for her skill. The girl would make a fine actress someday – if she could stay out of trouble long enough to make it to a show. However, it was soon clear that she was not the only scam artist around.

"Sorry to hear about your grandfather, but I'm afraid this ring isn't worth much."

"But that's a diamond," Olivia insisted, trying hard to maintain her sweet child act.

"Have you had that verified?"

"No," she admitted, making Artie wince, "but I know it's real. The man who bought it for my mother was far more vain than he was cheap. That _has_ to be a diamond."

The stranger continued to insist that the ring was a fake – only worth fifty dollars or so – and was actually managing to barter the price down to a "generous" hundred dollars. Artie took a deep breath and took his jeweler's glass from his pocket. He had pulled the fake-diamond routine a time or two himself and wasn't about to let the kid get swindled. Placing the glass in his eye, he took the ring in one hand and caught Olivia's arm in the other – he was feeling helpful, not stupid.

"My good sir," he started, slipping back into his southern accent. "Have you ever authenticated a diamond before?"

"Hundreds, why?"

"Well, I was just wondering how you could place a stone of this quality at fifty dollars? From what I see, it worth almost ten times that much."

He returned the ring to Olivia, put the glass back in his pocket, and politely bid the man goodnight. As he led the girl down the deck he was surprised that she didn't put up a fight. Then again, if she had stayed, there may have been bloodshed and not even Olivia would want to risk that sort of attention.

"I could have handled him."

"Sure you could have," Artie murmured, hoping she didn't notice his grin.

In her current mood, bloodshed was still a possibility.

"So where are we going now?" she asked. "The brig?"

"No," he replied, stopping her in a corner along the deck. "We are staying together."

He lifted the bottom of his vest to remove the chain from around his waist and took two locks out of his pocket. After securing one end of the chain to his own wrist, he locked the other end around hers. Satisfied, he took a small step back.

"Now, you are not leaving my side no matter what you say or-"

"I have to go to the water closet."

 _Darn you …_

* * *

So, Artie is now physically attached to Miss Olivia ... do you think it will be enough to keep her out of trouble?

The next chapter is back to the little darling's perspective. I look forward to your feedback and will be back tomorrow with more of Dear Miss Trouble. ;)


	10. Chapter 10

Hello again!

Okay, so I know I said I would post this "tomorrow" but I just couldn't help it! (I really want to see your reactions to this part.) Besides, I posted 2 chapters late, so why not another one early? (And it's almost tomorrow ...)

Because I am too tired to think of a good dedication, I'm going to give this one to my cats: Peanut and Ninja (who are currently sleeping on either side of me). Yay kitties!

Thanks again to my wonderful betas, The Wild Whovian and Andamogirl, for putting up with my starts, stops, and randomness.

Enjoy ...

* * *

 **Chapter 10**

Olivia sat on the bench in the water closet, trying desperately to pick the lock on her wrist with a nail file. No luck. If only she had a hairpin … and about ten minutes or so to use it. She really needed to work on her lock-picking skills. The agent probably had something that could do it, but if he did, it wasn't in his pocket. She looked up to the crack in the door where she could see a sliver of his back as he kept anyone from walking in on her – or her from sneaking out.

 _Darn him._

These agents were a lot harder to lose than Father's men, or even the Marshal's. They must have known she wouldn't try for Chicago again and discovered that New Orleans was her second choice. Clever, clever agents. Maybe she could use their own tricks against them. Reaching into her pocket, Olivia checked to see what she had managed to lift off her jailer while they were on deck. The jeweler's glass was useless and the matches wouldn't do her much good either. The silver ball was a curious thing – she'd never seen anything like it before – but wasn't sure if it could help her.

"Ah!" she yelped as the ball slipped from her fingers and exploded on the floor.

Instantly the room began to fill with smoke and Olivia found herself growing weaker. She tried to call out for Mr. Gordon, but couldn't stop coughing long enough to form the words. However, he must have heard the ball pop because she could hear him cursing just before strong hands lifted her up and everything went black.

The next thing Olivia knew, she was laying on something soft with a splitting headache and what felt like a mouth full of cotton. What happened? She tried to get up, but the hammers in her head kept it on the pillow. Next she tried opening her eyes and discovered that the hammers didn't like that either. Perfect.

"Just take it slow," a gentle voice advised as a shadow moved to block the nearest light.

"Mr. Gordon?" she whispered, squinting up at him.

It took a minute to remember that the agent was blond today, not to mention why. Though, surprisingly enough, she found herself in one of the riverboat staterooms instead of the brig. Not that she was complaining, but after her latest escape attempt she didn't think he would be taking any chances.

"Here," Mr. Gordon offered, holding out a glass of water.

She sat up to reach for it, noticing the chain was still locked around her wrist. Apparently he wasn't taking any chances after all. On top of that, it might have been hard to explain to the crew why he was shackled to a little girl – but it might have been fun to watch him attempt it. The cool drink helped to clear her head a little, but she still felt funny and settled back against the pillows.

"What was that stuff?"

"That, my dear, was knockout gas," Mr. Gordon answered. "In the future I would appreciate it if you kept your fingers out of my pockets, lest you accidentally lose one."

While he was obviously unhappy with her, the agent's tone made it clear that his words were far more warning than threat. Olivia got the feeling that the man carried other things on him that were a lot more harmful than knockout gas. Curious as she was, the girl made a heartfelt promise never to take anything out of his pocket again.

"What happens now?" she asked, managing to sit up and stay there. "You gonna lock me up?"

"No more than you already are," he answered, looking out the window. "We'll be pulling into the next stop soon. You and I are getting off and going back to St. Louis."

"And Mr. West?"

"Oh, he'll be waiting for us at the dock."

Sure enough, an hour later they got off the riverboat and there was Mr. West – with two horses. Olivia forced herself to remain calm; her ride from the Marshal's office was still haunting her memory. She couldn't show fear – fear was a weakness and weaknesses were exploited. However, she could only make it as far as ten feet from the beasts before she firmly planted her feet on the ground.

"What is it now?" Mr. Gordon asked.

"I have to ride that thing again?"

"Don't worry," Mr. West said with a smile, swinging himself out of the saddle. "You can ride with me this time."

Olivia looked up at the other horse and took a step back. It was like a monster of black with specks of silver. The agents noticed her hesitation and shared a look. Uh-oh! She had better come up with something to say before they figured it out.

"I'm not getting on that; it looks like death," Olivia stated as firmly as she could. "I'd rather take my chances with the other one."

Once again the agents shared a look, and Mr. West knelt down to look her in the eye. It was all she could do to put on a brave face as images of those hooves plagued her mind. He seemed to see straight through her mask and frowned.

"Olivia, are you afraid of horses?"

"No!" she shouted, just a bit too quickly. "I'm not afraid; I just … I just don't like them."

Who would after seeing a man fall off and get trampled? All broken up and covered with blood – she shuddered at the memory. That horse had been black too, but with a white foot. It didn't stay white though …

"Come here," Mr. Gordon said gently, leading her to his horse.

He kept his arm around her shoulders and the contact helped – a little. Then the agent lifted her up and placed her in his saddle. With a little shriek – which probably sounded more like a squeak – she grabbed the saddle hold and held on for dear life, screwing her eyes shut and praying this nightmare would end. A few seconds later, she felt Mr. Gordon right behind her and a strong arm wrapped around her waist.

"It's all right," he whispered. "I won't let you fall."

She latched onto his arm with one hand, while gripping the saddle with the other and felt a little better – she wasn't about to open her eyes, but she did feel better. A short time later, Mr. Gordon announced that they had arrived. Olivia peeked out to see the train and Mr. West holding up his arms to her. She reached out and he swept her off the horse, planting her feet lightly on the ground.

"Now that wasn't so bad, was it?"

Olivia looked up at him and smiled.

"No, because his horse is not the Grim Reaper."

Mr. Gordon laughed as he dismounted, handing his reins to their engineer – or at least, Olivia was pretty sure that was who he was. Mr. West did the same and the three of them headed back into their luxury train car while the engineer took the horses to the other one. Soon they were speeding off to St. Louis again.

Speeding away from Papa.

* * *

So, how do you feel about Miss Olivia now?

UP NEXT: The truth (FINALLY!) comes out ... I'll try to get it up around lunch tomorrow. In the meantime, I look forward to your comments/feedback.


	11. Chapter 11

Hello everybody!

So, I am hurrying to get this up between classes, so I will keep it brief.

This chapter is dedicated to anyone (and everyone) who wished that Olivia would just tell the boys who she was looking for - _without tricks_.

A special thanks to my betas, The Wild Whovian and Andamogirl, for their _extensive_ responses to this chapter.

Enjoy ...

* * *

 **Chapter 11**

Jim sat across the chess board from Olivia with the strange feeling that he was getting hustled. He had started the game when she asked him to teach her how to play, but something told him that she already knew the game – very, very well. At least they weren't playing for money.

"How does the horse move again?" she asked innocently.

"The _knight_ moves in the shape of an L," he explained … for the third time. "Two spaces in one direction and one space in the other."

"Oh … so I could use it to take your queen?"

Yup, she'd played before.

"Give it up, James," Artie advised from his place at the desk. "She's just toying with you."

"I suppose you could do better?"

His partner gave him a smile, but didn't rise to the bait. He had probably already lost to the little darling while they were on the riverboat – not that he would ever admit to it if he did.

Jim turned back to the chess board in a feeble attempt to save his bishop. No luck. The game lasted several more minutes as it became clear that Olivia's goal was not to capture his king but every other piece on the board. An interesting tactic, but quite effective. Once his king was the only piece he had left, the game wasn't even worth playing.

"I did say she was toying with you," Artie commented, returning his pen to the stand on the desk. "Miss Olivia is more cunning than she lets on."

"I noticed," Jim grumbled, rising from his chair and declining the offer of another game. "So who really taught you how to play?"

"Actually, it was Father," she admitted.

"Figures," Artie muttered, stowing his papers.

"If it make you feel any better, he can't beat me either. He's too direct."

"Direct?" Jim asked, pouring himself a drink.

"He always has to go at something as big as he can so it makes a grand statement." Olivia rolled her eyes. "As for me, I sneak in the back door and quietly remove any option but the one I want. Subtly is key."

Jim smiled, thinking how much that sounded like Artie's approach to things. He, however, was more inclined to the direct approach, though not quite as flashy as the way Olivia described Scranton. Still, it was good to know his usual method of operation. If he liked grand statements, there was no telling what he wanted that dynamite for. However, there were a few other questions he would like to get answers for and only one person who could provide them.

"Were you planning to ride that riverboat all the way to New Orleans?"

"Of course I was, Mr. West. That's where Papa is."

"I thought he was in Chicago," Artie challenged.

"Well, he _might_ be in New Orleans," Olivia countered. "He's a pirate after all."

Jim shared a look with his partner, wondering how long she planned to be leading them around in circles. They shared a silent nod of agreement and moved toward the table. It was high time they got to the bottom of this supposed man-hunt.

"Who is your father, really?" Artie asked.

"And we want the truth this time," Jim added.

"I just told you," she insisted, keeping her eyes on the chess board. "He's a pirate in New Orleans."

"And yesterday he was a British spy," Jim stated.

"Don't forget, he was also a lord and a doctor," his partner chimed in. "Anything else you would like to add? Perhaps he is the crown prince of Spain as well?"

"Denmark, actually," Olivia replied, a smile playing at her lips. "And it's all true."

Artie let out a quiet laugh and shook his head, clearly having figured something out, but Jim wasn't so sure. The girl claimed that her father was a doctor, pirate, spy, British noble, and the crown prince of Denmark. How did that even – oh.

"He's an actor," the agent surmised.

"Best there ever was," Olivia said proudly. "Mama said he could do all of Hamlet single handed, if he could figure out how to duel himself."

"That would be quiet a sight to behold," Artie agreed. "So why did your mother leave him?"

"She didn't," Olivia replied, her smile fading. "When the war broke out, he joined the army. He was coming back, just … never made it. But he's _not_ dead."

Jim shared a grim look with his partner. The war had been over for eight years; if her real father could have come back, he would have done so by now. The little girl was chasing a ghost. Artie knelt down beside her, placed a hand on her shoulder and opened his mouth, but she cut him off.

"Don't you say he's dead, because he's not. Father said he was dead; that's how he got Mama to marry him, but he's a liar. He lies about everything, so I know he lied about this too. Papa is alive!"

Artie just gave her speech a soft smile, claiming that he was just going to ask if she was hungry. While Jim knew better – and it was likely Olivia did too – the tactic worked and the wall she had thrown up started to crumbled. Promising to return with a feast, he headed to the galley. If only they had known the power of his cooking from day one, things might have been easier on all of them!

"I'm not making him up," Olivia whispered after a moment.

"What?"

"I _do_ have a real father, and he's _not_ Douglas Scranton."

"I never said you didn't," Jim said, taking a seat next to her. "I knew a lot of men in the war that left wives behind."

"Mama and Papa weren't married yet."

He knew a lot of stories like that too. Who knew how many babies were born to fathers they would never know, how many unwed mothers got themselves married in a hurry to hide their pregnancies? Douglas Scranton probably saw himself as doing a service to a fallen compatriot. However, if Olivia was right and Scranton did lie about her real father's death, then why didn't he ever come back?

"Do you know your real father's name?"

"No, just the name that Mama called him," she admitted, pulling a pouch out of her pocket. "It's what he signed his letter with, see?"

She unfolded the yellow pages to show him the last one and Jim caught his breath. That signature could only have been made by one man, someone had met during the war and knew very well. Excusing himself, he took the letter into the galley. His partner was peeling potatoes and looked up when he entered, frowning at what he saw.

"What's wrong?" he asked, setting down the food to wipe his hands on a towel. "It is Olivia?"

"Her father's alive, Artie," Jim said plainly, holding out the proof. "It's _you_."

* * *

Anyone see that coming?


	12. Chapter 12

Howdy! (Sorry this is late, but I had class and homework.)

So, this chapter is going to be a bit different as we are in Artie's memories. I hope it makes sense.

This chapter is dedicated to my drama teacher, Robin Gordon, for showing me I can fit Shakespeare in everything.

A big thanks to my betas, The Wild Whovian and Andamogirl, especially for their help with 1860's grammar.

Enjoy ...

* * *

 **Chapter 12**

 _April, 1861_

Artie stood just out of sight of the audience, smiling at how Caroline Madigan moved about the stage. The way she gracefully held her head as she weakly reclined on a chair, how the red powder on her nose matched the soft rose of her cheeks; only she could make a cold look beautiful.

"You better be ready for the next scene," a voice hissed in his ear.

He shooed away their company manager with a wave of his hand, not taking his eyes off the stage. Gormley was always finding something to grumble about, but Artie didn't have time to worry about him. After all, who knew how long it would be before he would be able to see a perfect performance again? However, when the scene ended and the girls hurried past him to prepare for the next act, he was met with a scowl.

"What are you doing?" Carrie whispered. "You need to be ready for the wedding scene."

"That's not until the next act."

"The next act is after this scene," she pointed out, gesturing at the actors who had replaced her on the stage. "How are we going to finish this if Benedick keeps daydreaming?"

"Only for you, my western flower," he cooed, earning a sought-after smile. "Besides, after Act Two, Benedick is supposed to stare at Beatrice, or did you forget we were in love?"

"I've known that for a long time, my artful one."

She moved closer and he pressed his lips to hers, only to be interrupted by another hiss from the management about ruining their make-up. Rolling her eyes, Carrie headed over to the wardrobe station to get the flowers she would need in the next scene. It was just as well; Artie needed to swap out his doublet.

"When are you leaving?" Carrie asked, adjusting her back wig in the mirror.

"Tomorrow morning."

"Must you really go?"

She looked up at him, her green eyes shining with unshed tears. She was so lovely, it was almost enough to make a man desert the army – and he had only just enlisted! It was the same reason that every man in their troupe was in love with her, not to mention at least half of the audience. She had stolen the hearts of hundreds, but had given hers only to him and that was something he thanked God for every day.

"It won't be that long," he promised, caressing her cheek with his thumb. "A few months at most, just long enough for us to quell the rebellion in the South. I'll be back before you know it."

"And what if you aren't?"

"I'm gonna have to be; Gormley wants to do Hamlet next year and you know I won't miss that."

She laughed softly, but her eyes were filled with pain. Artie hated having to leave her behind as much as she did the thought of him leaving, but the president himself had put out a call for volunteers and it was his duty to respond. Nearly every man in his troupe had done the same.

"Would you two get in position!"

Artie glared at Gormley, muttering about how his only skills were bad timing and the ability to shout in a whisper. It was a wonder the whole audience didn't hear what was going on backstage. Still, the man had a point and the couple rushed to their places just in time for their cue.

After the last curtain call, Artie hurried to get out of costume so he could meet up with Carrie. With only one more night in Chicago, he planned to make the most of every minute. Giving himself a final in the mirror to straighten his tie – and make sure all his make-up was gone – he turned around and almost stepped on one of his fellow actors.

"Sorry, Les, I didn't see you there."

The shorter actor scowled up at him, and Artie felt like kicking himself. While it wasn't his fault that he was an inch shy of six feet, it wasn't Lester Littlemite's fault that he was only an inch taller than five feet. As the shortest man in the group, he had to deal with a lot of jokes – which his name didn't help with – and Artie's thoughtless statement sounded dangerously close to being one of them.

"Hey, Benedick," Willy James called, jogging up to them. "We're going out to celebrate our last night as free men. You coming?"

"Sorry, my dear Claudio," he answered with a grin. "I have a previous engagement."

"Speaking of engagements, when are you going to get around to marrying that girl?"

Artie shrugged, not mentioning that he had already put the first payment on a ring. Unfortunately, he had done so just days before Fort Sumner was attacked. With the situation being what it was, he couldn't even think about getting married until after the rebellion was handled.

"Might not want to wait too long," Willy said with a wink. "Someone else might just run away with her."

"Oh, I'd like to see him try."

The friends shared a laugh and Artie turned to leave, spinning around again when he heard Willy ask Les to come along. It wasn't so much the invitation as the fact the man agreed. Lester was not exactly known for his social skills.

"You're going out for a beer," he gaped, unable to help himself.

"Why not?" Les demanded, puffing out his chest. "I'm enlisted just like the rest of you."

" _You are?_ "

Now the little guy was getting mad, but Artie was too stunned to really care. Lester was a fair actor – not the best, yet fair – but there were some roles he was just not cut out for. If he went into battle, he would probably wind up getting himself killed!

"Artemus! Are you ready?"

"Better get going," Willy advised. "Your engagement is calling."

"See you on the battlefield, Gordon," Les added.

The two went off to join a group of men leaving the theater, but Artie could only stare after them. Lester Littlemite a soldier? That was a funeral just waiting to happen. However, all thoughts of war faded when he turned around. Carrie was a vision in pale green, the exact same shade as her eyes. Her red hair was free of the wig and piled atop her head with just a few curls dropping down to frame her face.

"Well!" he said, his grin widening. "If the president looked like you, he wouldn't have to ask for volunteers; they'd be lining up at his door."

"Always the flatterer, Artful," she sighed.

"Only when it's deserved, my flower," Artie assured her and held out his arm. "Shall we?"

They made it two steps before they ran into their manger. At this rate, they would be having dinner for breakfast.

"I suppose you're leaving too?" he grumbled. "Every man in my crew is gone! What am I going to do now?"

"Gormley, you have an all female cast," Artie reminded him. "I'm sure you won't have trouble finding an audience."

The thought seemed to brighten his usually sour disposition and the actors seized the opportunity to sneak out before they got roped into planning the next show – something that had happened far too often before. They hailed a cab outside and were soon making their way down the streets of Chicago toward the best restaurant money could buy – on an actor's salary.

"You will be back, won't you, Artie?"

"Of course I will, Carrie."

"But what if you aren't?"

He smiled and took her in his arms, trying to ease her worry with his touch. No rebellion was going to break them apart; their love was to strong for that.

"No matter what happens, no matter how long it takes, I will find you again. But for tonight, it I just you and I."

Then he sealed his promise with a kiss.

* * *

Do you enjoy this glimpse of Artie's past?

UP NEXT: Olivia discovers the truth.

Let me know what you think and I will get the next part up tomorrow.


	13. Chapter 13

Keeping this short because I am on my way out the door.

This chapter is dedicated to Robert Conrad for playing such a good friend to our beloved Artie.

A big thanks to my betas, The Wild Whovian and Andamogirl, for being awesome.

Enjoy ...

* * *

 **Chapter 13**

Jim waited a moment for Artie to get over his shock. Based on the way he was staring at that letter, he was going to need it. Not that he could blame him; discovering that you had a child would throw anyone for a loop. Several minutes later, however, he was starting to worry that his partner would never snap out of it.

"Artie?"

"My western flower," he whispered, looking up with wide eyes. "My God, Jim! She's Carrie's daughter!"

Jim wasn't sure what to say to that – as he had no knowledge of Carrie beyond what Artie had just revealed – but he was saved from having to come up with anything by a gasp from the doorway. It seemed Olivia had heard enough to figure out the truth.

"You're … _you're_ Papa?"

Before Artie could even open his mouth, the girl burst into tears and ran back into the parlor car. The agents shared a look and hurried after her, Jim staying a step or two behind. He wanted to be on hand in case either needed him, but knew this was something his friend was going to have to deal with on his own.

They found her crying on one of the sofas. Without her carefully formed walls and masks, Olivia just looked like a scared little girl, broken and alone. Well, she wasn't alone anymore. Artie knelt down in front of her, holding out one of his handkerchiefs as a peace offering.

"I know this has to have come as a shock," he started gently. "It was for me too."

"I bet," she sobbed. "You must hate me!"

"What?!" Artie gaped. "I could never hate you! Why on Earth would you even think that?"

"After all I did-"

"Oh, sweetheart, none of that matters now," he assured her, taking a seat on the sofa so he could wrap his arms around her and rest her head against his chest. "The important thing is that we found each other and now everything is gonna be okay."

While this seemed to ease the girl's tears, Jim wished he could be as optimistic. If Olivia's mother was someone Artie cared about that much, what was going to happen if they were too late to save her? Keeping his pessimism to himself, the agent took a seat at the desk. This new information changed things and they were going to have to inform Colonel Richmond sooner or later … maybe later.

"Papa?" Olivia said, sitting up to look at her father. "Why didn't you come back for us?"

"I did!" Artie insisted – with visibly restrained intensity. "It was the first thing I did when the war ended, but when I got back to Chicago and heard she was married with a baby … I just thought that she had moved on."

"She never did," the girl almost whispered. "She kept your picture and all your letters in a silver box under her bed … until Father found it."

Jim could guess how well that had gone over – and based on the storm clouds that entered Artie's eyes, he did too. Olivia's claim that she never got a chance to see the picture, and that the letter she carried was the only one left, confirmed it. Things were not going to go well for Douglas Scranton once they got their hands on him, but the rest of her story just added nails to the coffin.

"So you are saying that this man showed up, claimed I was dead, and Carrie just believed him?"

"She didn't have a lot of choice," Olivia said in defense of her mother. "Besides, he went to war with you, said he was in the same regiment, and Mama had never known him to lie before."

"Before?" Jim cut in. "She knew him?"

"Papa too; they were in the same acting troupe."

That last revelation had Artie rising to his feet and he stalked across the car. Olivia looked nervous, but Jim gave her a reassuring look – hoping she knew her papa wasn't angry at her. He made a mental note to ask his partner about the men that went to war from his old company. Maybe if they figured out which one it was, they would have a better description to work with.

"Olivia," Artie said after a minute, returning to the sofa. "Do you have any idea as to where Scranton might be hiding? Or where he might have taken your mother?"

"No," she answered glumly. "I wish I did. Cecil might have known."

"Who's Cecil?" Jim asked.

"Carrie's cook," Artie replied for his daughter. "Sweetheart, do you remember his last name?"

"Um … I think it was … Truman. Yes, it was! I remember because I used to think that it meant he couldn't lie. He had a brother too that worked at a hotel; his name was Moses."

Cecil and Moses Truman; it wouldn't be too hard to track them down. They'd get the Marshal on it as soon as they got back into St. Louis, which should be within the hour. However, that thought brought up a few more questions.

If Douglas Scranton had known Artie before the war, who was to say he wouldn't recognize him now? The man had already put a lot of effort into keeping Artie out of Carrie and Olivia's lives; so how far would he go to continue to keep him out? Most importantly, how was Jim going to keep him safe?

How would he keep any of them safe?

* * *

Thoughts, feelings, other comments?

Let me know what you think and I will get the next one ready for tomorrow ... after breakfast.


	14. Chapter 14

Happy Sunday!

Sorry this is late, but I had to do a partial rewrite. (Thank you betas, The Wild Whovian and Andamogirl, for pointing out the confusing bits.)

This chapter is dedicated to my nieces (Genevieve, Dankia, Katelyn, Anabelle, Evelyn, Athena, and Samantha) who, for better or worse, are just like their parents ... Heaven help us all. (Kidding! ;) )

Enjoy ...

* * *

 **Chapter 14**

Artie covered Olivia with a blanket and stepped back from the sofa, but couldn't take his eyes off the sleeping figure. Carrie's daughter. _His_ daughter. He had a child and he never even knew. If only he had taken the time to check on her mother after the war, make sure they were both all right. If only he had talked to Carrie, let her know he had at least made it back okay. If only he had confronted Scranton and taken back what was his.

 _If only …_

"Artie? You all right?"

"Just look at her, Jim," he sighed, ignoring the question. "She's so beautiful."

"Yeah, she's a cute kid … must take after her mother."

"Very funny," he muttered, turning to accept a glass of brandy from his friend. "So, do we have a plan for when we reach St. Louis?"

"For starters, I think you should stay here with Olivia. You have a lot of catching up to do. Besides, Scranton's men are probably looking for her and she should stay out of sight."

Jim didn't mention that the risk was now known to extend to her real father, but Artie had long since learned how to read his partner. Jim was worried about him, but as grateful as he was for the concern, there was no way he was sitting this one out. Scranton had Carrie somewhere and Artie had a promise to keep. On the other hand, Jim was right about Olivia needing to stay out of sight, so they would go with that plan … for now.

"We will need to track down the Truman brothers," Artie pointed out, taking a seat near his daughter. "From what Olivia told me, Scranton didn't trust Cecil. However, working in the house, he may have heard something that could help us find where that rat took Carrie. That is assuming, of course, that he didn't have them killed."

Jim nodded as he sipped his drink. Artie wondered if he were trying to think of a way to keep him out of the investigation, but it was out of the question. If they target had been part of his acting troupe, than he was the only one who might be able to identify him. Of course he didn't remember anyone named Douglas Scranton, but he was the last person to judge someone for using a fake name – dirty thief though he may be.

"Hey, Artie, do you have any idea who Douglas Scranton was before the war?"

"Wish I did," he sighed. "Every man in our troupe enlisted, except Gormley; he was our manager. As for the rest …"

He trailed off, waving his hand to show he had no idea which of his former friends had betrayed him. Every one of them had been in love with Carrie – or at least thought they were – but he couldn't see any of them pulling something like this. He didn't even know which of them survived the war.

"Do you think Gormley would know?"

"He might," Artie admitted. "Especially if he was managing Carrie when Scranton came around, but that's assuming we can find him to ask."

That was the one problem with theater people: they tended to travel. While working for Gormley, Artie had performed in seven different cities, with the odd town on the side to make ends meet. Before joining the troup. he had worked hotels and riverboats from one end of the Mississippi to the other. It was only fear of getting in the path of the war that had kept Gormley and his girls tucked away in Chicago all those years, but there was no reason for him to still be there – that is, if he hadn't drank himself to death by now.

"Is there anyone from the old days that you know how to find?"

Artie thought about his partner's question and smiled. It might mean a trip to Chicago, but there were a few people who would still be around. He discussed his plan with Jim – who didn't like it – and they set it in motion.

The next morning Artie strolled into the parlor part of their train to find Olivia up and looking out the window. She had changed into a dress that was a very familiar shade red. In fact his favorite suit was the same wine color – the same suit he was currently wearing. Great minds indeed think alike.

"Nice dress," he commented, making her turn around.

"Nice suit," she said with a smile. "Are we in Chicago?"

"Care to join me for breakfast," Artie asked, placing a tray on the table.

She gave him at look, but let the question go unanswered – for now. That gave him time to finish figuring out how he was going to answer. Of course, with the number of signs visible from the train, anyone who could read would know where they were. The problem was in explaining the why. He had some people to see, but knew all to well that his daughter was not one to be left to her own devices. However, she did promise not to run off once she found her real father. Still, he wasn't about to leave her alone and unprotected – if you could call putting her in reach of his entire range of inventions unprotected. They did want to leave Chicago intact after all.

"Papa?"

"Yes?"

"Have we been banished?"

Artie looked up so suddenly he nearly stuck the butter knife in his coffee cup. Banished to Chicago? How did she come up with these ideas?!

"What are you talking about?"

"Well," she murmured, picking at her food. "I just thought that if Mr. West was trying to keep us out of the way, Chicago would be a pretty good place to do it."

So that was it; she was thinking like him. The only reason his partner had even agreed to this plan was the very point his daughter had just brought up. However, there was a lot more too it than she seemed to have realized.

"No," he said firmly, but gently. "Jim is not trying to shut us out or keep us anywhere. We are in Chicago because I need to follow up on a lead and he is not because he is following up on his own lead. We are still partners."

"So you work together … by splitting up?"

"Strangely, yes. We cover more ground that way."

Olivia seemed to accept this answer and dug into her pancakes – a girl after his own heart. Once they were finished eating, Artie got ready to run his errand. Unfortunately he had not yet decided on a safe place to put his daughter while he did.

"Why can't I come with you?"

"Because I am going to see people from my former acting days."

"So? I don't know any of them, except Father."

Artie winced at her use of the word. Granted, he had only known that he was her father for a matter of hours, but he still didn't like sharing the title with someone who would lie about his death in order to manipulate Carrie into marriage. Olivia seemed to notice this and asked if he would rather she called him Mr. Scranton.

"That might be better," Artie admitted.

"I could always call him 'rat-faced coward' or 'low-life weasel.'"

Her suggestions did have merit and he greatly appreciated the sentiment, but pointed out that "Mr. Scranton" was easier to say in conversation. On top of that, her other argument – that she was unknown to his former cast-mates – was also valid and he couldn't think of a safer place for her to be than by his side. So twenty minutes later, the pair walked into his old stomping grounds and quickly found the person he was looking for.

"Artemus Gordon!" Julia Pettygrove gushed upon seeing him. "It's been ages since I've seen you. Are you coming back to the stage?"

"Only to see your loveliness, my dear."

Artie kissed the lady's hand, not missing the eye roll from Olivia that suddenly made the situation very awkward. It was not easy to flirt with a woman in the presence of one's child – especially when that woman was not the child's mother.

"How long have you been in town?" Julia asked, moving a little closer. "Staying long, I hope."

Caught off guard by the sudden hostility in his daughter's glare and the forwardness of the actress' behavior, Artie had to take a second to collect his thoughts. Normally getting information out of a woman, especially an old friend, took only a smile and a drink or two – but normally he didn't have a twelve-year-old girl watching his every move. He would have to tone down the situation if he wanted to avoid another incident of peppered water, and he knew just the thing.

"Not long, actually, I just came by to show my daughter where I used to perform."

Instantly the woman took a step back and Artie felt a pang of disappointment. Not that he and Julia had ever been a couple – he'd only had eyes for Carrie back then – but it was still hard to get the cold shoulder from a beautiful woman. However, the younger lady seemed very pleased with the turn of events.

"I'm Olivia," she stated, holding out her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet someone who was on the same stage as Papa. Did you ever do Hamlet with him?"

"Yes, several times," Julia answered cordially.

"I bet you were great as Ophelia."

"Oh, I wasn't Ophelia. I played the Queen."

"But you couldn't; you're way too young for that role!"

Julia smiled, quickly warming up to the child, and Artie couldn't hide his grin. At least he knew she came by her charm naturally. Heaven help him the day she discovered boys.

"Ophelia was played by another woman in our group named Carrie," Julia explained. "Actually, she and her husband sponsor this theater."

 _Now they were getting somewhere._

"Oh, she's married now?" Artie asked brightly. "That's nice. Do they live around here?"

"No, they live in a big house in St. Louis," Julia replied.

"Ah, good for her. Do you know who she married?"

"A man named Douglas Scranton; he's a patron of the arts."

Artie was starting to get the feeling that this trip had been a complete waste of time, but he continued to smile and chat about how the old troupe was doing and what they had been up to. For her part Olivia showed the right amount of awe at the glamor of his former life, though she seemed to quickly run out of things to be impressed by.

"Well, we better get going," he said after a few minutes. "Olivia and I have a train to catch. It was nice to see you, Julia. I will give your regards to Carrie when I see her."

"You do that. Oh, and if you don't find her at the house, try checking her husband's warehouse."

"Warehouse?" Artie echoed.

"Oh yes, her husband has one in every port where he does business. He had apartments built over some of them for when he has to stay somewhere overnight or for visiting actors. I heard Carrie's baby was born in the one in St. Louis while they were waiting for their house to be finished."

Thanking Julia for her help, Artie quickly brought Olivia back to the train and sent a telegram to Jim so he could start looking into Scranton's holdings – assuming he hadn't put the property under an alias. Just to be on the safe side, he also sent him the names of every man in his troupe down to Gromley so they could check records for those names as well. After that, he sent word to Orrin to return to St. Louis as fast as they could.

He was going to find Carrie if it was the last thing he did.

* * *

So who thinks Artie will wait for Jim to go after Carrie?

Let me know what you think while I get the next chapter ready.


	15. Chapter 15

Hello, I am literally writing this in my classroom 5 minutes before class, so it will be brief.

This chapter is dedicated to my nephew, Garrett, who is the sweetest imp I know.

Thanks to my betas, The Wild Whovian and Andamogirl, for helping me get this done.

Enjoy ...

* * *

 **Chapter 15**

Olivia watched the landscape whip by as the train sped back to St. Louis. She never thought she would see the day that she would be eager to return to that place, but now that she found Papa, she knew everything would be okay.

She found Papa.

It was like a dream, and she kept pinching herself to prove it was real. Based on all the bruises dotting her arm, it was very real. Her father was Artemus Gordon, one of the top agents in the United States Secret Service.

She should have seen if before.

Only Papa could have out-foxed her as much as he did; only he could be that good. Of course Mr. West was no slouch, but Papa … he was amazing. Speaking of which, where was he?

"Papa?"

"In here."

Olivia followed his voice into a room where he seemed to be either doing an experiment or making soup – it was hard to tell which. There was a small pot on the table, bubbling away over a small fire, that smelled strongly of peppers. However, there was no other food in sight.

"What are you doing?"

"Well, you remember when you threw that spiced water in my face?"

"Sorry about that."

"It's fine," he muttered, waving his hand dismissively. "Actually it was very effective, but not practical."

As he spoke, Papa removed the pot from the flame and poured the contents through a strainer and into another container. She could now see why the thing smelled like peppers; that was all that was in it. They were the long kind that she had seen dried and hanging in shops when they took a trip to Texas, but Olivia hadn't seen many in this area. Then again, Papa traveled more than she did and probably had a lot of things he had picked up here and there.

"The problem with putting spices straight in the water is that the most effective irritants, like cayenne pepper and cinnamon, are hydrophobic," Papa continued.

"The spices are afraid of water?"

"I'm glad to see you have studied languages," he said with a smile. "Yes, 'hydro' is Greek for water. However 'phobic' in this instance means aversion, not fear. So hydrophobic means that the two won't mix."

Her father had to be the smartest man alive.

"When you put something hydrophobic – like ground cayenne pepper – in water it will clump together and turn to a sort of goo. Not very effective as a weapon."

"So I boil it?"

"You boil the peppers themselves," he corrected. "Put in a bit of ground black pepper for some added effect and there you go."

Papa placed a small glass bottle on the table and inserted a funnel in the top, carefully pouring the mixture inside. He set aside the rest and screwed a perfume cap in place. Clever.

"This will let you spray the pepper water so you can get more than one shot with it," he explained, though it wasn't necessary. "This should be effective for about a week or two before you will have to replace it."

"Thank you, Papa," Olivia said with a grin, taking the bottle.

"You can thank me by keeping this one out of my eyes."

"Of course I won't spray _you_ … Will Mr. West be at the platform when we get there?"

He gave her a look and she gave him a smile, hoping he knew she was joking. Olivia wouldn't blind Mr. West, not when Papa needed him for backup. Still, there were a few people she could think of that it might be okay to test it on – like a certain rat-faced lying weasel that took her and Mama away from Papa. Yeah, he would make a great test subject.

"When we reach St. Louis, we'll need to go straight to the Marshall's office," Papa announced, putting away his supplies. "They should know by now where Scranton's warehouse is."

Olivia sure hoped so. If they could find the warehouse, they could find Mama. Her eyes swept over the table in front of Papa – all the gadgets and gases at his disposal. When the agents showed up, Douglas Scranton wouldn't know what hit him.

She spent the rest of the trip asking Papa about all his inventions – further proof that he was the most brilliant man alive – and helped him pack what he would need to face the lying weasel. He even let her come with him to the Marshal's office to check the records – not that he was likely to have left her behind without a babysitter.

"Hello there, Miss Olivia," Marshal Linfield greeted when they arrived. "Didn't think I'd be seeing you again so soon."

"I'm helping my Papa," she said proudly.

"You're WHAT?!"

"She means me," the agent said, turning to Olivia. "Sweetheart, can you go get the information on the warehouse?"

"Sure."

She hurried down the hall, letting Papa explain the situation to the stunned Marshal. Unfortunately, the clerk had not been able to find any warehouses owned by Douglas Scranton or any other name on their list. With a sigh of frustration, Olivia returned to the main office.

"But how can she be yours?"

"You really need me to explain that?"

"Papa?"

Both lawmen looked up quickly, but she could only shake her head. Papa slammed his fist on the table – making her jump – and Olivia quickly reminded herself of what Mr. West said: He wasn't angry at her. Still, she wished there was something she could do to help.

"What now?" Marshal Linfield asked.

"Now I go search every warehouse on the harbor until I find Carrie," Papa said adamantly.

Olivia would have cheered – if his next words were not instructions for her to stay put. On top of that, he asked the Marshal to make sure she did – and that man had an eagle eye that rivaled Mr. West's. The traitor! She and Papa were family; they were supposed to stick together. Besides, he didn't even wait for Mr. West; what if he ran into trouble? What if he got hurt or worse? She had to do something, but what could she –

Oh right.

Taking the small object out of her pocket, Olivia considered her options. It was definitely a way to make the eagle eye blink, but it would also put her in hot water up to her neck. However, desperate times called for desperate measures.

"What do you have there, Miss Olivia?"

She turned to Marshal Linfield, giving him the most innocent smile she could muster.

"Oh, it's just the perfume Papa gave me. Wanna smell it?"

* * *

So Artie has gone after Scranton (alone) and Olivia has gone after Artie (alone) ...

Anyone else sense trouble on the horizon?


	16. Chapter 16

Hey Everybody! For once I'm not rushing!

I got a few requests and questions about where Jim was doing all the action(/mischief) of the last few chapters. Here is the answer.

I am going a bot outside the box here and dedicating this chapter to the late James Arness who portrayed my favorite marshal of all time, Matt Dillon of _Gunsmoke_.

As always, I would like to give a shout out of thanks to my betas, The Wild Whovian and Andamogirl, for pointing out the good, the bad, and the confusing in each chapter.

Enjoy ...

* * *

 **Chapter 16**

Jim walked into his fifth hotel, praying he was not on a wild goose chase. Someday there was going to be system that could keep track of all employees of a given hotel, and maybe even a way to check more than one hotel at once. Who was he kidding? Leg work would never go out of style.

"Can I help you, sir?" the man behind the desk asked with a smile.

"Yes, I'm looking for a man who I believe works here. Moses Truman?"

While he mentally braced himself for 'please wait here' followed by the 'no, I'm sorry' speech that he had been hearing all day, Jim was surprised when the clerk confirmed that Moses Truman did in fact work there. Not only that, he was on site that very moment sweeping the dining room. Thanking the man profusely, Jim hurried into the dinning room to see a middle-aged man with wrinkled brown skin and cropped black hair heading out the side door with a broom in his hands.

"Excuse me!" Jim called, jogging over.

"Yes sir?" the man said nervously.

"Are you Moses Truman?"

"Um … yes sir."

"I'm James West," he said, pulling out his identification.

"Government? But I didn't do nothing!"

"You're not in trouble. I'm looking for your brother, Cecil."

"He didn't do nothing neither!"

"He's not in trouble. I just need to talk to him. Do you know where he is?"

While he seemed reluctant to do so, Moses admitted that Cecil had been working in the hotel kitchen since Scranton fired him. He even led him back to where his brother was washing dishes to get ready for dinner. Cecil was older than his brother, with graying black hair and cloudy blue eyes. He looked up when they came in, giving them both a puzzled expression.

"He come from the government," Moses explained. "I told him you ain't done nothing."

"It's okay, Moses," Cecil soothed, turning to Jim. "Can I help you, sir?"

"My name is James West; I'm looking for Douglas Scranton."

Cecil's cloudy eyes turned stormy and he went back to the dishes.

"I don't work in that house no more."

"I understand that, but Olivia Scranton thought you might be able to help me."

Those seemed to be the magic words. The man's whole face lit up as he turned back toward the agent. It seemed that he cared for the girl as much as she cared for him.

"Miss Olivia? You seen Miss Olivia? How is she? She and her mama doing okay?"

"Olivia's fine, but her mother is missing. We have reason to believe that Douglas Scranton has taken her into hiding."

"He took Miss Carrie? Oh, sir, you need to hurry! That man is pure evil!"

"I agree; do you have any idea where he might have taken her?"

Cecil's brow creased in concentration, adding to the wrinkles that were already there. He was quiet for a few minutes and Jim was starting to become impatient. If he couldn't give them something to work with-

"There was a warehouse," the cook said quietly. "I never been there, but Miss Carrie said that's where her girl was born."

"So you don't know where it is?"

"Along the docks, I reckon. Sorry I can't help you more. That poor woman deserves some happiness after all she been through, losing her man in the war and all."

"You know about Olivia's real father?"

"Not his name, no," Cecil admitted. "Mr. Scranton say that man's name only good for one thing and it had no business being in his house. Oh, but he was a good man, sir, that for sure!"

Jim had to agree about that. He thought about telling the man that Artie wasn't dead, but didn't really have the time. Olivia could always tell him later, now that they knew where he worked. At the moment, he had to get back to the Marshal's to see if his partner had learned anything from his trip to Chicago.

"Mr. West?" Cecil called as the agent turned to leave. "You will find Miss Carrie, won't you?"

"I'll certainly try."

"And Mr. Scranton?"

Jim paused, thinking back on everything he knew about Douglas Scranton. The body count of his criminal operations alone were enough to send him to the gallows, but that wasn't even taking into account what he had done to Artie and Caroline. That sort of manipulation may not be punishable by the courts, but there was no way the man was going to get away with it.

"Douglas Scranton will be taken care of."

With that promise made, he left the hotel to head back to the Marshal's. With any luck, Artie had returned with information that could help them locate Scranton's hiding place. Arriving at the office, Jim stepped inside … and saw Linfield repeatedly splashing his eyes in the washbasin.

 _Apparently Olivia was back._

"Marshal?"

"Mr. West? That girl-"

"I know, she's the spawn of the devil."

Jim allowed himself a small smile at the irony that Olivia had called Artie 'Satan,' but the implications of the situation didn't leave much room for amusement. If Olivia had escaped from the Marshal that would mean that Artie had left her behind, which in turn meant that he had gone after Scranton alone.

"Did Mr. Gordon tell you where he was going?" Jim asked, handing the lawman a towel.

"Just that he was going to search every warehouse on the docks until he found that girl's mother."

Well, at least he knew enough to search the warehouses. If only they could narrow it down! With both his partner and Olivia out there somewhere, who knew how much time they had. But if they didn't find a match from the list of all the men in Artie's acting troupe – wait.

Remembering something Cecil had said, Jim hurried down the hall to the county clerk's office. He asked them for a copy of the list his partner had provided and scanned over it. Just as he thought, one name was missing.

"Can you check the record and see if Artemus Gordon owns a warehouse?"

The clerk looked through the records and came up with a match. Jim copied down the address and raced back to his horse, hoping he wasn't too late.

If Scranton found Artie first, he would make the rumor of his death a reality.

* * *

Do you think he will find Artie first? And what about dear Olivia?

Let me know your comments, concerns, and questions while I prepare the next chapter for tomorrow.


	17. Chapter 17

Greetings!

Since Wednesday is set to be very busy for me, I am posting this while it is still Tuesday ... for almost another hour.

This extra long chapter you are about to read has the first showing of Douglas Scranton in person, and therefore deserves a special dedication: This chapter is for the late (and great) Michael Dunn. Of course, Douglas Scranton is no Dr. Lovelace, but there is some comparison ... well, you'll see what I mean.

For this chapter I would also like to thank three betas, The Wild Whovian and Andamogirl for their feedback during editing and Dlldarkwolf for her help with the plot. (If anyone doesn't like how it ends BLAME HER! _I_ wanted to be a little nicer but ... well, you'll see what I mean.)

Enjoy ...

* * *

 **Chapter 17**

Artie made his way along the docks, casually checking to see what each warehouse was used for. Not that it would be hard for Scranton to put out a sign advertising pickles or imported shoes to hide his real business, but it was a place to start. That thieving weasel was close, he could feel it.

"Mr. Gordon?"

Or at least two of his henchmen were close – make that four, counting the ones coming up behind him. Only Jim would try to fight it out against these odds; best to just go with it.

"Yes," he confirmed pleasantly. "I was just out for a walk and thought I would look up my old friend, Mr. Scranton."

"Mr. Scranton has been looking for you, too," the smallest of them – who still had an inch or two on Artie – said with a smile. "He asked us to escort you."

"Well, isn't that nice," the agent continued, trying to appear casual.

If Scranton sent his men to pick him up, he must have known he was in town. If he knew that, he might know that Olivia had betrayed him … that Carrie had betrayed him. If he harmed one hair on her head, he was a dead man!

The start of the walk down the docks was comfortable enough, though they did take Artie's gun – and just about everything else he had on him – before he had gone more that a few steps. The farther they went, however, the closer the four men got until they were almost pressed into him from every side. Of course, this offered a perfect shield from any prying eyes when they forced his hands behind his back and tied his wrists with some kind of rough cord, like twine. Crude but effective.

Artie offered no resistance, not wanting to endanger Carrie any more than she already was. So he let the henchmen push and prod him along until they came to a large warehouse advertising cheap Chinese imports. Apparently Scranton used the place for legitimate business as well as a prison and hideout.

"Mr. Gordon," an unfamiliar voice called when he entered the spacious central room.

He looked up on a dais to see a blond man – that was far too young to have served in his regiment – standing beside a large armchair turned away from the entrance. The chair was plush velvet and gold, from what he could see of it, and no doubt Scranton's idea of a throne.

"It's been a long time," the man continued.

"It must have been," the captive agent said bluntly, "because I don't remember you at all."

Artie could barely make out the voice coming from the chair and only a slight tilt to the blond's head indicated that he could. After a moment, the man explained – kinda.

"Hollins speaks for me; my words are his words."

"I see," Artie replied, allowing himself half a smile. "And is Douglas Scranton so much of a coward that he can't even taunt his own prisoner?"

There was a small movement from the chair and Hollins nodded to one of the men, who in turn punched the agent hard in the stomach. Artie would have to remember that lag between order and execution, so he could brace himself better next time.

"You always did have a sense of humor, Mr. Gordon, a trait I never admired."

"Well, you can't please everyone."

"Caroline must have missed it terribly, because she doesn't smile as much as she used to."

If he was trying to get under the agent's skin, it was working. The mention of Olivia's mother took away any good humor Artie had left, as well as gave him a great desire to break Scranton's jaw – though he might let Hollins off as he was only the mouthpiece.

"What?" the young man relayed. "No witty retort?"

"Where is she?"

"So, you want to get down to business then? All right; my wife is here. Had you heard that I married her; took care of her after you abandoned her to go to war?"

"After you lied to her," Artie growled. "After you told her I was dead."

"If you had just been so obliging as to die in battle, it wouldn't have been a problem. Now, however, I will have to kill you myself."

"Don't I get a last request?"

"You wish to see Caroline?"

"Not just her. If I'm going to die, I think I have a right to see who is killing me."

"Quite right, Gordon," a more familiar voice piped up. "And so you shall."

Even before his memory could place the voice, the figure in the chair stood and moved around it. He had gained weight and lost hair, but there was no mistaking those eyes. Artie's jaw almost hit the floor as he stared at the ghost standing before him.

"Les Littlemite?! It's YOU?"

"Don't call me that!" Lester snapped. "That was the man no one believed in, the little guy who always played the fool, but I … I am the most powerful man in St. Louis!"

Great, he was Loveless on a smaller scale – or larger depending on how you looked at it. At least he didn't have the brains to match his ego.

"Now," the veritable madman continued, "I know someone who has been very anxious to see you. Take him to the cell."

Without much reason to fight – at the moment – Artie allowed himself to be brought to the basement, where he was shoved face-first into a room with a dirt floor hard enough to have been made of stone. Not very secure in the long run, but he didn't imagine Lester/Douglas was going to keep him around long enough to give him the chance to tunnel out. It also did not provide a very soft landing for his ribs. However any aches and pains he might have been feeling left his mind when he looked across the room.

She was pale and thinner than he remembered, in a simple dress of blue. Her once rich curls hung limp around her shoulders and tear tracks ran down her dirty face from red-rimmed eyes, but even with all of that, Caroline was still the most beautiful woman in the world.

"Artemus?" she whispered, rushing to his side. "They said you were alive, but I didn't dare … how can this be?"

"I said I would come for you, didn't I?"

She freed his hands and moved back, looking at him with a mix of guilt and fear. Did she think he was angry with her for not waiting for him or for getting married to someone else? While he wasn't exactly happy about it, he didn't blame her – now if he could only get her to believe it.

"Come here," he said, holding out his arms.

Carrie burst into tears, practically falling into his embrace, and he whispered soothing words to ease her pain. Between sobs she told him how Lester had come back from the war injured, just months after they left, and claimed that he had been with Artie when he died. Losing him had been her greatest fear; she had seen it happen over and over again in her nightmares. That was why, when Lester told her his story, she believed it.

"Oh, Artemus, I'm so sorry."

"It's all right, my flower. I'm here now. Everything is going to be fine."

He had said the same thing to Olivia, but he wasn't entirely sure he could keep his promise to either of them. If only he had some way of reaching Jim, or even just letting him know which warehouse they were in! He had no doubt his partner would be looking for him, the question was whether or not he would get here in time.

"I should have waited for you," Carrie sniffled.

"What's done is done … but really, Lester Littlemite? You didn't have any better offers?"

"I was expecting! That isn't exactly a position in which one can be choosy."

"Yes, of course, I understand … but _Lester_?"

She gave him half a smile, recognizing that he was teasing – well, half teasing – and settled deeper into his embrace. It felt good to have her in his arms again. It was almost like no time had passed at all, that they were still young and in love.

"You have a daughter, Artful," Carrie said after a moment.

"I know," he replied with a smile, "and she is as beautiful as her mother."

"You met Olivia? Where is she?"

"I left her with the Marshal before coming here."

"Good," she sighed. "At least we know our little girl is safe."

No sooner had she finished speaking than they heard a commotion from somewhere past the door. Artie couldn't make out most of it, but the words 'she bit me!' and 'my eyes!' were clear as day. He let out a sigh of his own and looked down at Carrie.

"I think you spoke too soon."

Leaving her by the wall, Artie hurried over to the door just in time to catch the child as she was flung through it. Olivia struggled for half a second before recognizing who he was – and a half second after that her smile faded when she caught the expression on his face.

"Uh … hi, Papa."

"What did you do to the Marshal?"

"Oh, that … um … I let him smell my perfume."

It took a moment for Artie to register just what perfume she was referring to. That realization came with the understanding that he was going to have to give Linfield a very sincere apology when he gt out of this – assuming he did. Olivia caught sight of her mother and Artie let her go so they could have their own tear-filled reunion. It was a touching thing to see, and made him even more determined to get them out of here.

"Olivia, sweetheart, why did you come here?" Carrie asked, caressing the girl's cheek.

"I had to, Mama! Papa didn't have backup."

"Jim will be along soon enough," Artie assured her – and himself.

"But what if he isn't?" Olivia argued. "How are you going to protect yourself?"

"I'm not sure how you expect to help with that."

"Simple," she replied, sporting a rather mischievous smile. "Guards don't search little girls."

Olivia reached into her pocket, producing a variety of his inventions. Not everything had an obvious use in this situation – like the putty that can hold a man's weight for fifteen seconds – and some he rather she _didn't_ have – like one of his smaller bombs – but he appreciated the thought, misguided though it was.

"Will these help, Papa?"

"These will be just fine," he answered, quickly placing the items in his own pockets.

He thought about adding something about staying away from the tools of his trade, but the return of the guards kept him silent. There were seven now: three for him and two each for Carrie and Olivia. Showed how much Lester knew: it would take at least twice that many men to keep Olivia contained!

"Ah, the happy family," Lester smirked when they came in sight.

He was standing at the edge of a sort of lower dock, with the main dock acting as their ceiling. A good place to get rid of someone away from prying eyes. Artie couldn't help but give Carrie and Olivia a quick glance. If this was his end, he wished they weren't here to see it.

"Please Douglas," Carrie begged. "Don't do this!"

"Caroline, my dear, you know how much it pains me to see your tears -"

"I bet," Olivia muttered.

Lester scowled at the child, but did not signal for any kind of retaliation. Thank God for small miracles. Instead he turned back to Caroline, tracing a finger down her pale cheek.

"I will spare you, my love," he whispered and looked to his men. "Take her back to the cell."

She screamed and cried all the way, begging him not to hurt Artie and Olivia. It was heart-wrenching, and left the agent with a cold hatred inside him because, if taking Carrie away spared her, leaving Olivia meant that his daughter was to share his fate.

"Lester," he said in a low tone. "If you touch Olivia-"

"I wouldn't dream of touching her," he replied with a wicked grin. "She is nothing to me, after all, just a piece of _you_ I never asked for … nothing but an unwanted kitten."

Something in his tone sent a chill down Artie's spine, but it wasn't until he saw the man with a sack that he realized just what Lester was talking about. He lunged forward, but the three guards held him fast. He couldn't even reach any of his tools to stop them, to cause a distraction – to do anything as they forced his little girl inside the canvas bag. The weighted bottom dragged across the dock as small fists and feet punched futilely from the inside.

"No!" Artie growled, fighting with all his might. "Olivia!"

He heard her call out to him just before the sack hit the water and sank to the bottom. Artie struggled for a long time, knowing that if he could just get free, if he could just reach the sack in time … but it didn't happen. Gradually he stopped, sinking down to his knees on the rough wood.

It had been too long … Olivia was gone.

Tears began to fill his eyes as his mind replayed every moment he had with her, good and bad. How she had clung to him when they rode on horseback together, how she had beat him – and later Jim – at chess, how she had looked in that wine-colored dress perched at the window of the train. There would be no more such moments.

His baby girl was gone.

A laugh got his attention, and Artie raised his eyes just enough to see the tips of Lester's expensive shoes right in front of him. The man must have been feeling confident, because all three of his guards had let go. They must have thought he was too broken to do anything.

 _They thought wrong._

In a single movement, Artie rose to his feet and grabbed Lester by the front of his shirt. Then there was a tremendous splash ...

* * *

So do you hate me yet? (For the record, I did warn you all that Lester/Douglas was evil.)

I will try my absolute best to get the next chapter up by/around lunchtime tomorrow, but it may go up rather late.


	18. Chapter 18

I hope this chapter makes up for the emotional roller-coaster that was the last one.

I am currently in bed recovering from an allergic reaction, so this is going to be quick.

This chapter is dedicated to my roommate, Bebe, who's input influenced how the story unfolds from here on out.

As always, I couldn't have done this without the help of my betas, The Wild Whovian and Andamogirl.

Enjoy ...

* * *

 **Chapter 18**

Jim made his way down to the lower part of the docks, hoping he could sneak up on the warehouse Scranton was hiding out in. He just wished he knew where his partner was – if he was still alive. Suddenly something grabbed his ankle. He pointed his gun down at – Artie?

The face looking up at him had dark hair and very familiar brown eyes, but something was off about it – more than just the fact that half of it was covered by one of his partner's black breathing masks.

"Artie?" he called, kneeling at the side of the water.

A small hand pulled the mask away to reveal an impish smile.

"Guess again."

"Olivia," Jim muttered, helping the girl out of the river. "What are you doing in the Mississippi?"

"My fake-father declared me to be an unwanted kitten," she spat, shaking out her drenched skirts. "You have to hurry, Mr. West! He's gonna kill Papa next; I just know it!"

"Don't you worry,"he assured her. "You know I would never let anything happen to your papa. Now, where are they?"

"In a warehouse upstream, not sure how far. I let the current carry me a ways before coming to the surface, just in case they were watching the water."

Smart kid, especially bringing a breathing mask with her. She must have grabbed it off Artie's workbench back on the train – probably to avoid gassing herself again. Good thing her papa designed it to work underwater as well.

"Do you know if your mother is there too?"

"Yes, she's there, but he doesn't want to kill her. He's gonna kill Papa!"

The little girl was coming dangerously close to hysterical and Jim had to take a moment to calm her down, especially if they were so close to Scranton's hideout. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he spoke in a gentle tone.

"Olivia, I'm going to go get your parents and they'll be okay. Can you to get word to Marshal Linfield to bring backup?"

"Yes sir," she nodded and hurried away.

With her on her way to safety – hopefully – Jim could focus on finding Artie before it was too late. It didn't take long to locate the warehouse in question as it was the only one with lights on, but the agent knew better than to burst in through the main door. So he circled around the side, looking for a window to give him a better idea of what was happening.

Peering through the first window, Jim saw a small man yelling at everyone around as he changed out of wet clothes. Apparently Olivia wasn't the only one who wound up in the Mississippi. Based on the way everyone was acting toward him, that was probably Scranton. But where was Artie? As the yelling man moved further into the warehouse with his henchmen, Jim heard the soft sound of crying. Kneeling down by a barred window, he saw what looked like an empty store room turned prison. A woman sat along the wall cradling the still form of his partner. Was he too late?

"Ma'am?" he whispered, making the startled woman look up. "Don't be afraid. My name is Jim West; I'm here to help you."

"Jim?" She sniffed. "You work with Artemus?"

"Yeah. Is he …"

"No," she said, her voice cracking a little. "They hit him. He must have tried to … Olivia … my poor baby!"

She began to cry again, holding Artie closer. Whoever brought him back to the cell must have told the woman that Olivia was dead. While that was bad enough, the idea that the girl's father had tried to stop it would mean that he saw it happen. Douglas Scranton was going to pay for this!

"Ah," Artie groaned, raising his hand to his eyes. "Olivia … where … Carrie?"

"It's all right," Jim called quietly. "Olivia is fine. I just saw her."

His partner forced himself to his feet with all the grace of a drunk, and moved over to the window with Carrie following close behind him. His eyes were starting to focus, which was a good sign, but Jim didn't like the way he had to lean against the wall for support. However, his own heath seemed to be the last thing on his partner's mind.

"You saw Olivia? Where?"

"Downriver a ways. She used one of your breathing masks to stay underwater until she was clear of Scranton."

"But how did she get out of the sack?"

"I had a knife in my boot."

Jim turned to see what looked like a small boy crouched in the shadows next to him with a gunny sack slung over their shoulder, but a long tendril of black hair peeking out from under their felt hat gave the girl away. Carrie and Artie reached through the bars to touch her hands, all three asking if the others were all right, but Jim had a few other concerns.

"Olivia, I thought I told you to get the Marshal."

"You said 'send word to the Marshal, and I did."

 _He was really going to have to learn to be specific with this kid._

"Where did you get those clothes?"

"A clothesline a couple streets over," she replied. "Have you ever tried to move in wet petticoats?"

"And the sack?"

"I wasn't about to leave behind my best dress just because it got a little wet."

 _Yup, that was Artie's daughter all right. Speaking of which …_

"Hey, buddy," Jim leaned closer to the window. "You have anything to get rid of those bars?"

"As a matter of fact …" his partner replied, pulling a bomb from his pocket.

He shared a small smile with his daughter and Jim suspected that her sticky fingers lifted more than a breathing mask, but they could deal with that later. Instructing Artie and Carrie to get away from the window, he set the explosive and shielded Olivia with his body.

The blast rattled the windows above them and sent a shower of debris peppering Jim's back. Giving the girl a quick check to make sure nothing hit her, the agent turned to the hole where the bars had once stood. He pulled Carrie out first, then helped his partner. Once his feet were on solid ground, Olivia wrapped her arms around Artie's waist.

"You're not mad I took your stuff, are you?"

"Sweetheart, I have never been more happy to be robbed in my entire life!" He knelt down in front of her, cupping the girl's face in his hands. "But right now, I need you to do something very important. Take your mother to the Marshal's office and keep her safe until I get there. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes, Papa," she replied seriously. "Just … make sure you come back."

"I'll always come back to you," he promised, planting a kiss on her forehead. "Now go quickly!"

She grabbed her mother's hand and the two raced off into the darkened streets. Artie let out a sigh and immediately began to swaying slightly. Jim reached out to steady him and wondered if he would have to find a safe place to keep him until this was over.. Artie caught his look and waved it off before turning back to the warehouse. His meaning loud and clear:

 _Worry about me later, Jim, we have a man to find._

* * *

I would never be so cruel as to actually kill Artie's child right in front of him. (I can be evil in my cliffhangers, but I'm not heartless.)

COMING SOON: Scranton gets what is coming to him ...


	19. Chapter 19

Hello again!

Sorry this is late, but I am a college student with other papers to work on. (It seems that "I was posting fanfiction" is not a viable excuse for missing class/homework.)

Anyway, this chapter is dedicated to my good friend, Evilgoodguy, for being kind enough to give me his first hand experience with having a concussion.

On that note, this chapter is from the perspective of Artie while he is suffering from a concussion (which we first saw that he had in the last chapter). If anyone is confused by what he is seeing or sensing, just remember: nothing is moving except for _him_.

A huge thanks to my betas, The Wild Whovian and Andamogirl, for letting me know what parts were just too confusing for the chapter.

Enjoy ...

* * *

 **Chapter 19**

Artie grabbed onto Jim as they made their way back into the warehouse, worried that his friend seemed to be tipping over. How was his partner going to help him catch Lester if he couldn't stay upright? Holding onto him seemed to help, but it also appeared to have halted their progress.

"Artie?"

The look in Jim's eyes was full of concern, yet clear and focused. At least they had that going for them. But if _he_ wasn't dizzy then how … why …

"You were falling," Artie stated.

Even as he said it, his explanation sounded weak to his ears and seemed to make his partner even more unsteady. He tightened his grip on Jim to keep him from going straight to the floor, but then heard something that almost made him dizzy.

"No, Artie, I'm not falling; _you are_."

Oh, he was? But that couldn't be right! He certainly didn't feel like he was falling. Maybe Jim was just confused. Still, whichever of them was dizzy, they better get over it fast because four henchmen had just come into sight.

"Kill them!" came a shout from the upper level. "Kill them both!"

Artie had just enough time to register Lester's voice before his partner shoved him back, then tackled two men simultaneously. The fight continued at a speed that was far too quick for him to keep in focus, but the little weasel running along the upper walkway was clear as day – until his view was obscured by someone's head coming straight towards him. Grabbing the closest thing to his hand, Artie slammed what turned out to be an unlit lamp against the skull of the charging henchmen, feeling a sense of satisfaction when he recognized him as the man who put Olivia in that blasted sack. Noting that Jim had already knocked down two and was engaged in fighting the last man, he made his way toward the stairs.

Lester Littlemite was going to pay for what he had done – for every heartless deed.

Artie may have heard his partner call out to him, but he didn't care. His mind was clear enough to track his goal and that was all that mattered. The rat was running up to an even higher level of warehouse and the agent followed, not willing to let an uneven floor keep him from his goal. He pursed him outside, emerging on the far edge of the roof. The lights of the docks swirled below him as Artie turned to see a derringer pointed straight at his heart.

"After all those duels we fought on the stage, I should have known it would end like this," Lester said, his voice cold. "But this time, Artemus Gordon, you are not the heroic prince or the dashing lover who wins the fight and the heart of the lady. In this duel, you die!"

"It's hardly a duel when only you have a weapon," Artie replied, much stronger than he felt as he tried to balance on the shifting roof. "If you want a fight, why not make it fair?"

"Do you consider me a fool?! How do you think I rose as high as I did? By overpowering my enemies?" The shorter man let out a harsh laugh. "No, I outsmarted them. I outsmarted them all. I even outsmarted you!"

"How do you figure that?"

"By taking the dear Caroline out of Chicago and leaving word that we were happily married. I knew a man of your honor would bow out, even if you did come back."

Adrenaline was doing a lot to keep Artie on his feet and every word that came out of Lester's mouth was just making him stronger. If he wanted a chance to get out of this alive, he was going to have to keep him talking … and pray Jim got there in time.

"So you got everything you wanted?"

"No," Lester admitted. "There was one fly in my otherwise perfect ointment; one thorn that sprang from my delicate rose."

"Olivia," Artie whispered, his adrenaline rising a little more.

"Yes," Lester growled. "Oh, she may have been a girl in name and form, but that child was you through and through. You could see it in her eyes … hear it in her voice … If Caroline hadn't stopped me, that brat would have gone into the river years ago!"

Well, Artie was sure strong now … though, maybe not quite enough to keep himself from breaking every bone in the little weasel's body. Unfortunately any move he made would result in a bullet – or would it? A memory from his past lurked just out of his reach, something about a duel …

"Artie!" Jim called, coming up behind him.

"Not another step, Mr. West," Lester ordered. "Remember, this gun has two bullets."

He could almost feel his partner going stiff behind him, but Artie just smiled and moved an inch or two forward – which was all he could manage with the sway of the roof. Lester once again snapped at him to stop, but he just took another shuffling-step to challenge the empty threat. The small gun shook slightly as Lester backed away from his advance.

"Artie?"

"He won't shoot, Jim," he assured his friend. "He can't."

"I can so!" Lester insisted, using his other hand to try to steady the weapon. "Take another step and I will!"

"No, you won't," Artie replied. "It's the same reason you had to drown Olivia: you can't stand blood. You even fainted during a production of Henry IV; out cold before you could even finish your lines! The very sight of it makes you weak in the knees."

"I'm not weak!"

"Yes, you are. You were too weak to win a woman like Caroline without lies, too weak to run a city without a small army to fight your battles, too weak to speak for yourself, and too weak to pull that trigger."

Enraged, Lester threw his derringer at Artie's head. The agent ducked to the side, but the sudden movement had him falling toward the lights below. His partner lunged forward to pull him back, but their enemy vanished from sight.

"Are you all right?" Jim asked, holding him tight.

"Lester …" Artie started, closing his eyes to try and focus. "We can't let him get away!"

"He didn't," Jim said solemnly.

Confused, Artie looked back toward the edge of the roof where he had last seen … oh. He allowed his friend to help him to his feet and crossed the short distance to where their enemy had been standing just moments before. Jim tightened his grip as Artie leaned over the side of the building, taking in the sight of the twisted form on the dock below.

Justice had been served.

The arrival of the Marshal and his men gave Artie a chance to sit down and let the world settle, as the lawmen recovered the remaining henchmen and the rest of the stolen weapons. Hollins was found in the office, trying to empty out Lester's safe. Based on what the mouthpiece was saying, the entire theft had been a plot to bring in the secret service – to lure Artie into a trap.

"Mr. Scranton hired two gunmen to kill Mr. Gordon the night he arrived in town," Hollins admitted to Jim. "When they failed to find him, we were forced to fire them and hire a group of other – cheaper – trackers."

That was probably because Artie wasn't in town more than an hour, thanks to his imp of a daughter. He had to wonder: if Olivia hadn't run away so often, would he have survived? For that matter, now that he had, what was he going to do?

"Artie?"

"Yes, Jim?" he replied, looking up at his partner's smile.

"We better get going. You have a promise to keep, remember?"

That he did. Forcing himself to his feet, he swayed only slightly on the way to the cab. Soon they were headed back to the Marshal's office – back to his family. He was lucky to be able to keep his promise, as he so nearly didn't. What was going to happen next time? Suddenly his life seemed much more dangerous, especially now that Carrie and Olivia were in it. How was he going to take care of them? But even as he asked the question, he knew the answer.

He had known it for 13 years.

* * *

Any guess what that means?

One chapter left ... see you tomorrow. :)


	20. Chapter 20

Greetings!

Sorry this is so late, but for some reason I got it into my head that I had already posted it when I hadn't. (Must had been the fact I only got 4 hours of sleep thanks to my writing-induced insomnia.)

Anyway, here it is: the final chapter.

This is dedicated to Tripidydoodah for giving me consistent support through every chapter and my betas, The Wild Whovian and Andamogirl, for their helping getting this thing off the ground.

I would like to give a special thank you to all those who read along with my sporadic-daily postings and hope you enjoyed my first multi-chapter fic in this fandom.

Enjoy ...

* * *

 **Chapter 20**

Olivia smoothed the skirt of her favorite dress, picking a piece of lint off the wine-colored fabric. She promised Mama that she would look her absolute best when she met Papa's boss. Of course how she was going to meet him when Uncle Jim told her to wait in the hallway … Maybe she could take a peek and see how things were going.

"Miss," the colonel's assistant called from her desk the moment she stood, "Mr. West told you to wait there."

"Yes, ma'am," she replied sweetly, "but I am terribly thirsty. I'm sure he won't mind if I go get a drink of water."

"Just have a seat," the woman said with a smile. "I'll get you some."

Worked every time.

"Thank you, ma'am."

While the woman rose from her desk, Olivia returned to her chair and made show out of fixing her skirts. No need for her to think the girl was going to get up again – she might not leave. Once the lady was out of sight, Olivia jumped up and hurried to the door Uncle Jim had disappeared behind almost an hour before. A crack was all that was needed to hear what was going on in the room beyond.

"The coroner said that Scranton died of a broken neck, caused by the fall from the roof," Uncle Jim reported. "He spooked when I moved to help Artie and stepped back too far. There was nothing either of us could do."

While she had already heard what had happened, the description still gave Olivia chills. Not that Scranton was dead – that thought brought nothing but relief. It was how close Papa had come to falling right along with him; how close she came to losing him all over again.

"No need to convince me of that," another voice said – probably Colonel Richmond. "Though it seemed all he did was save the government the trouble. I understand the records Scranton kept in that warehouse linked him to several deaths?"

"Yes, sir," Uncle Jim confirmed. "He was quite a colorful fellow."

Wasn't _that_ the truth. They didn't even mention that Papa would have torn him apart if given the chance, especially after the way he treated her and Mama. Her true father was far too much of a gentleman to let anything of that sort go unpunished.

"Well, Jim, your report is clear and detailed, except in one thing: where is Gordon now?"

"I believe he is still on his way to New Orleans, sir," Uncle Jim replied. "He did have some leave time coming."

"True," Colonel Richmond agreed. "Though, usually, he takes part in the debriefing first."

"There wasn't time."

"Why not?"

Uncle Jim paused and Olivia was becoming impatient. Why couldn't he just come out and say it? It wasn't as if it was something to be ashamed of … except a slight scandal, but that would have happened regardless. Well, if he wasn't going to explain it, she would.

"Because," Olivia said, stepping into the room, "it is customary to leave for one's honeymoon immediately after the wedding. Sorry I didn't wait, Uncle Jim, but you were taking too long."

The agent didn't look surprised at her intrusion, at least not as much as his supervisor. More importantly, they didn't appear to be angry, so she couldn't be in that much trouble. Remembering her promise to Mama, Olivia did a quick curtsy and introduced herself.

"Olivia Anne Gordon, at your service, sir."

"Charmed," the colonel said with a smile, before turning to his agent. "Your report doesn't do her justice."

"None could," Uncle Jim replied.

Olivia narrowed her eyes slightly, wondering if that was meant as an insult or a compliment. Deciding that she would take it as the latter, the girl accepted the offered chair and waited for her newly appointed uncle to finish his report.

"As Olivia told you, Artie decided to use his leave time to go on his honeymoon, but he'll be back in a week or so."

"I see," Colonel Richmond nodded. "And are you too requesting leave time?"

"Now that you mention it, I did promise the newlyweds that I would look after their daughter until their return."

"Oh, don't mind me, Uncle Jim," Olivia interrupted. "You can go back to work if you need too. I'm sure I can find something to occupy my time."

She gave him a sweet smile and he chuckled, shaking his head with a grin of his own. He must be catching onto her tricks; the girl would have to be even smarter if she was going to gain access to Papa's lab now. Wait … did he know that was her goal?

"Artie also asked me to find a suitable home for Carrie and Olivia to live," Uncle Jim continued, giving her a wink. "Until then, you can reach us at the Imperial Hotel."

 _Yup, he knew._

They said goodbye to the colonel and made their way to a waiting cab. Olivia spent the drive thinking about what had been said in the office. Papa was buying a house for them … but not him. He married Mama, but he wasn't going to stay? Why? Who was going to take care of them without Papa?

"Olivia? You all right?"

"I don't know," she answered honestly. "It's just … why can't Papa stay with us?"

"Well, how do you think he'll support you and your mother if he doesn't work?"

He did have a point, but there were lots of jobs Papa could get in Washington … or Denver … New York … San Francisco … really anywhere he could be an agent, he could be something else … but not really. Papa was good at his job and who knew how many people he helped? His skills were special; no one else could do what he did so well. Uncle Jim was right: Papa had to go.

"Here we are," the agent announced, helping her down from the cab. "Oh, and your father left you a present inside."

Curious, Olivia followed him in and up to their room. She opened the door to see a huge bouquet of roses, just like the ones the actresses get, in the middle of the room. More exciting still was who she saw holding them.

"Hello, Miss Olivia."

"CECIL!" she squealed, running up to her former cook.

The old man return her hug before pulling her back to arms length so he could look her up and down. With tears in his eyes he said how much she had grown and apologized for going away so suddenly.

"It's okay; I know it wasn't your fault," Olivia assured him, holding his wrinkled brown hand tightly. "How long will you be in Washington?"

"Well, I got me a new job as a cook and gardener," he answered, his blue eyes twinkling. "So, I guess I'll be around just as long as your daddy wants."

Too happy for words, she just hugged him again. Papa was truly the greatest man who ever lived! A cough caught her attention and Uncle Jim advised Cecil to get the flowers in some water. While he went to do that, the agent placed a hand on the girl's shoulder.

"Artie sent a note with the flowers. Maybe you should read it alone."

Olivia nodded, taking the envelope and going to her private room. Closing the door behind her, she opened the card and smiled at the familiar penmanship.

 _My Precious Imp,_

 _Thank you for finding me and never giving up hope. I wish I could stay with you always, but I can't. Cecil has promised to look after you and your mother whenever I am away, but know you can always contact me through Colonel Richmond. I love you more than I could have ever thought possible and look forward to the next time we can be together. Remember that I will always come back to you._

 _Yours forever, Papa Artful_

With tears in her eyes, she read the letter again and again, stopping only when Cecil came in with her bouquet and a reminder that dinner would be ready soon. Thanking him, she folded up her new letter and tucked it into her pouch of treasures.

Her quest may be over, but a new adventure was just beginning.

* * *

So who wants to see Olivia again?

I have a few idea for future adventures with Artie's impish little girl. (Such as how she would deal with a certain height-challenged nemesis ...) Just let me know if you would like me to write them. ;)

 **NOTE:** After so many unfinished stories, I try not to post anything that is not finished (with the exception of "ABC" stories), so it might be a while before I post another thing like this. However, encouragement goes a long way to getting me to work on stuff as I tend to write what people ask for (assuming the plot bunnies are behaving.)

Thanks again for reading. I hope to hear from you soon. :)


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